


It Came Aflood

by SandWitch42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Astral Projection, Biblical References, Burrito Countdown, Cuddling, Dean can't get his head out of his ass - Freeform, Diet Angst (just for a moment), Enochian Magic (Supernatural), Heaven, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Tagging Characters Reveals Spoilers, nuzzling, pop culture references, sweet nothings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-09-27 20:31:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20413864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandWitch42/pseuds/SandWitch42
Summary: February 17th, and it's raining the world over.  While the Winchesters and the angels try to figure out why this is happening and what to do about it, Dean and Cas are trying to figure out what they mean to each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set somewhere in early S12. Also, the angels use their wings. Fight me*

**Day 1**

"The first part is easy. It's just light."

Luminous white light engulfed all.

"Okay, okay. That's good. But let's tone it down just a bit, shall we? There needs to be separation between day and night."

.oOo.

In the hush of the Men of Letters bunker, a bag of small, powdered donuts sat on the library table in front of Sam. He ignored them in favor of the half-finished smoothie in the tall glass next to his open newspaper. Ever since Mom had come back, and he had watched how she worked, Sam tried to make a point of reading a few articles in the paper each morning as well as searching for cases online. For better or worse, there was nothing grabbing his interest as a hunter this morning. His left hand toyed absently with the ends of his long, brown locks as green eyes scanned the article titles on the page.

Dean reached into the bag for his third donut. He sat opposite Sam at the table, quietly skimming through news headlines on his laptop. His lips worked silently, half-forming the words as he read. His jaw carried more than a weeks worth of beard growth; Sam knew once Dean decided to shave he would also cut his light brown hair back to the short, clean style he favored. Not only had Dean not groomed, but they hadn't worked in a couple weeks, not since Mom had said she needed her space and took off. Correlation may not be causation, but Sam had his suspicions. He also imagined Dean must be getting as antsy as he was without work.

"Even if we do find a case today, I don't know how quickly I want to get back out into that rain," Dean said, breaking the silence. Apparently it was nasty out there. Dean had parked his Impala in the garage instead of leaving it outside as he had taken to doing, just so he wouldn't have to get out in the weather when he got back from his donut and paper run. He had informed Sam that not only was the rain incredibly heavy, but it was also "really damn cold." Of course, that was to be expected halfway through February in the middle of Kansas.

"It's weird, though," Sam replied. "I could have sworn it wasn't supposed to rain today."

"Oh, so now you're a weather man?" Dean scoffed.

"No, it's just..." Sam tapped his fingertips on the newspaper as the thought formed. He didn't usually make it a habit to know the next day's weather, but... "Oh!" He excused himself to the kitchen. Over the past weeks, he had accumulated a good-sized pile of newspapers that he felt guilty throwing away, so he had set up a bin next to the trash can for recycling. The papers were the only thing that actually made it into the bin. Due to that fact, yesterday's paper was set neatly on top. Sam snatched it up and was thumbing through the pages as he walked back into the library where Dean was chomping into yet another donut, powder flaking down to the front of his shirt. Dean absently wiped it away. Sam slid the laptop aside and set the open page in front of Dean to point to the colorful layout of the five day weather forecast.

"Sunny, high of forty-four, zero percent chance of precipitation," Dean read aloud.

"And sunny for the rest of the week, look. It's like this rain came out of nowhere."

"Huh." Dean leaned back in his chair, eyes still on the page, and popped the remainder of the donut in his mouth, dusting his hands together.

Sam moved back to his seat where he had abandoned the day's paper. He flipped the pages until he found the more recent forecast. "Look at this," he said. Dean sat forward to read the page upside down. All he needed to see, though, were the small pictures of grey clouds spitting blue droplets that showed across the page where the previous day had suns.

"That's... kinda weird."

"Yeah," Sam replied. There was an article on the same page. "Get this: 'Local meteorologists cannot explain the sudden shift in weather but defend their previous forecasts, saying they do not not predict the weather, they can only make a conjecture.'"

"That's a fancy way to talk out of their asses," Dean said with a snort.

"Yeah, no kidding," Sam agreed. He blinked; did he blink? In that moment, Castiel was standing in the library behind Dean. Sam could swear he could hear the rustle of feathered wings any time the angel appeared. He had found himself tempted to ask Dean whether he heard it as well, but he was afraid what his brother's answer would be. Cas's sudden appearances rarely surprised him anymore, and based on Dean's lack of reaction when Sam shifted his gaze and offered a greeting, he wasn't surprised this time either.

"Hello, Sam," Cas replied to the greeting. "Dean." Dean turned slightly, just enough to glance back and up at Cas, and gave him an incline of his head.

"Cas."

"What's up?" Sam asked.

"Something is happening."

"You mean all this rain we're suddenly getting here?" Dean put in, giving the paper on the table before him a rustle.

"Not just here. Everywhere."

"Everywhere? Like..."

"Global."

Dean turned a shocked face to Sam, which Sam was sure he was mirroring. Global. His brow twitched. "How?"

"What's causing it?" Dean asked on top of Sam's question, now turning fully to face Cas.

"We're working on it in Heaven. The timing is... suspect. So there is speculation."

"Timing? What are you talking about?"

"The seventeenth day of the second month."

"Yeah," Sam's eyes flicked to the top of the paper in front of him to confirm. "Today's February seventeenth. But what-"

"An accusation of this magnitude must be thoroughly examined before anything official is put forth. I just felt you needed to be aware of the situation. I'll be in touch." With that, Cas was gone, and the brothers were left staring at each other across the table with confused expressions.

.oOo.

"Well if it isn't Sam and Dean Winchester. Come on in, boys." Missouri Moseley stepped back from her open door and ushered the brothers into the living area and out of the frigid downpour threatening them as they huddled under the awning that covered her porch. The heavy rain had wet down their outer layers completely; they were saturated them from feet to knees due to splash coming up from their run from the Impala to her porch, but they had been swift enough to protect themselves from a soaking all the way down to their underclothes. Missouri could see the merits of layers. Their hair was dripping onto the shoulders of their jackets. Sam's long tresses were plastered to the sides of his face. Beads of rain pebbled down the scruff on Dean's face.

"Thanks," Dean murmured as he stepped in and moved far enough past the door to allow Sam in as well. Missouri addressed his back, stopping him in his tracks.

"You better stop what you're doin' with that jacket, boy," her soft, high voice had a stern note in it.

Dean, who had his hands gripped on the front of his leather jacket, ready to give it a firm shake to throw off the excess rain water, halted his movement before it happened. Instead, he carefully removed the jacket and turned sheepishly to face Missouri. Sam was also removing his drenched coat. Missouri pointed to the coat rack next to the door without another word. The brothers hung their jackets on the hooks, water dripping from them to the small rug positioned under the rack. She nodded in satisfaction.

"I s'ppose there's nothin' to be done for your pants," she said with a small sigh. "Come on, then." She brushed through the beaded curtain in a nearby doorway and led the way from the living area to her kitchen, keeping them away from the rugs on the hardwood floor. Sam and Dean left a trail of water from their shoes and jeans as they followed. Without looking back at them, Missouri gestured to the table in the breakfast nook as she walked to the coffee pot. "Make yourselves comfortable. Ah figured you was on your way, so I put some coffee on to knock the chill off your bones."

"Oh, no thank-"

"Spare me your false courtesies, Sam," Missouri interrupted, turning to face them. "You want this coffee, even if for some dumb reason you think it's polite to decline it. So shut your mouth, sit yourself down, and start dryin' out a little while I pour this."

Missouri spied a smirk from Dean at the gentle berating she gave his brother as he settled himself into one wooden chair at the small table. There were two towels neatly folded on the placemats before two of the chairs. He helped himself to the towel closest to him and pressed it to his face before speaking.

"You said you knew we were coming."

"Well, maybe not you exactly," Missouri busied herself with setting three filled coffee cups on a wooden tray. "But I knew I'd be having visitors today." She added a sugar bowl and a stirring spoon to the tray and carried it to the table. Sam had also grabbed a towel and was bent over in his seat, scuffling it through his long hair. Missouri pursed her lips in a rueful smile as she set the tray on the table between the brothers and took a seat for herself. Dean balled his towel, tossed it on the opposite end of the table with one hand, and reached for a steaming mug with the other.

"I thought you once said you couldn't pick facts out of thin air. How'd you know someone was coming?" His question made Sam stop drying his hair; he lifted slowly, pushing back his now-damp mane and peeking out of the towel to eye Missouri. Her reply did not disappoint.

"Dean Winchester, did you come all this way to ask for my help or to critique my abilities?"

Sam allowed Dean to stammer for a moment before he took over. Though quick to save each other physically, but they sure did seem to enjoy seeing each other squirm. He set his towel aside with the one Dean discarded as he answered for his brother. "You know we need your help."

"I know." Missouri replied matter-of-factly and gestured at a mug for Sam. He reached forward and thanked her with a tip of his head. She took her time with her own mug, stirring in some sugar with the tiny spoon. She hadn't bothered with spoons for the brothers or with setting cream on the tray; she knew how they took their coffee. The spoon clinked on the edge of her mug as she tapped to remove the last drops of coffee from it before setting it on the tray. She put the mug to her lips and breathed in the aroma before blowing gentle ripples across the dark surface and taking a sip.

Her silence made Dean itchy, "Well?"

"Don't you 'well' me, boy. Actin' like you can just walk in here and expect me to ask 'how high' when you say 'jump.'" Missouri set her mug down and fixed Dean's light green eyes with her own dark brown as she verbally lashed him. "You think that me diggin' in that head of yours, it would save us all the time we'd spend talkin' about what you need. I got news for you, Dean, I ain't pokin' around in there. You've seen things I don't want no parts of, and--" She cut off, closed her eyes, and turned her head away from Dean. By bringing it up, she had knocked on a door in Dean's mind that let the bad come crashing through. She took a slow, deep, steadying breath. When she opened her eyes and faced him again, her expression was apologetic, and voice took on a note of sympathy. "And now you're thinking 'bout some of the worst of it. I'm sorry, honey. But I need you to control your thoughts."

With her last sentence, Missouri's hand made a tentative reach for Dean's, but she changed her mind, curled her fingers into a fist, and brought it back to wrap around the heat of her mug. He didn't want to be touched right now. Dean's face showed no outward signs that he had even been thinking about Hell, but his mind was awhirl as he tamped down the utter despair and grief at what he had experienced. Missouri knew he had had years to box up his feelings about it, but his memories were still vivid and probably always would be. She turned to Sam, from whom worry came in pings, allowing Dean to have a few moments to collect and contain his thoughts.

"Talk to me, darlin'."

"It's the rain," Sam stated. It was evident he was trying to be all-business, but Missouri could tell he was worried about his brother. Their concern for each other warmed her; together, each would always have someone to look out for the other.

"Go on," Missouri leaned back in her chair, nursing her coffee and using her body language to ease them down from the moment. It appeared to help.

"Well, we didn't think much of it -just that it was weird, the rain suddenly starting without warning- until our friend came to talk to us about it."

"Cas. Castiel. Your angel friend," Missouri found the name in Sam's mind as he said the word 'friend.' Sam nodded as though she has asked a question.

"Yeah; we met him a couple years after you helped us with the poltergeist in our old house." Sam's eyes dropped to the coffee cup in his hands as waves of both sadness and joy wafted off of him. He was thinking about his mother. About watching her ghost overpower and destroy the poltergeist. About her living self being back in their lives, thanks to a very unexpected turn of events. And about her walking out again.

"It must'a been nice to give her a hug," Missouri replied, prompting the happiness to overpower -though not completely quell- the sad. Sam looked back up at her with a small, appreciative smile. "Tell me more about the rain."

"Cas told us that it wasn't raining just here. It's everywhere."

"By 'everywhere' you mean... everywhere."

"The whole world," Dean joined the conversation. He had put a firm lid on his previous thoughts and was focused now on the task at hand. It was impressive to Missouri how emotions that strong could be hidden behind such a cool face. "The entire Earth is under a cover of storm clouds, and it's coming down all over."

"And just what kind of help do you think a psychic like me can give that an angel can't?"

"We don't have angel help right now. Cas took off," Dean said brusquely. Missouri raised an eyebrow as she examined the stab that accompanied his words. Dean uncomfortably tore his eyes away from hers and pushed his chair back to stand. He was well aware that she was reading beneath the outward facade, and he didn't like it.

"Restroom is around the corner," she pointed, letting Dean have the time away from her that he wanted. Dean excused himself, and Sam picked up the conversation again, unaware of the undertone of the exchange she had just had with his brother.

"Cas didn't tell us much. Just that the rain is global, that the angels have a theory, but he has to find out more. Then he was gone."

"Just like that," Missouri murmured into her coffee. She took another sip. "You have a lot of faith in this Castiel, don't you?"

"I do," Sam answered. "He's helped us out a lot over the years."

"Mm-hm. He's hurt you too."

"Well, I mean, yeah, but..." Sam floundered in his thoughts for a moment. He took another swig of his coffee, buying time, trying to put his feelings into words. "But he's family, and family sometimes hurts you, right?"

"Ain't that the God's-honest truth," Missouri replied.

A strange, fluttery-flapping whispered in her mind. Interestingly, though what she heard was internal, likely something only psychics and sensitives could hear, she could point to the exact spot in the kitchen behind her from where the "sound" had come. Sam's face and thoughts brightened with expectation at what -who- he saw beyond her shoulder.

"Cas."

"Hello, Sam."

Missouri didn't turn right away. She first strained to hear the thoughts of the angel behind her, but it was like trying to make sense of a Mandy Wilkinson painting. The whole thing was an array of colors, dominated by one, and that main color wasn't a constant.

"I thought you couldn't track us," Sam said. He moved a hand from his coffee cup and placed his palm against his ribs. "Aren't we warded against all angels? Did it fail?"

"It didn't fail," the deep, gravelly voice said. "Dean's car is parked out front. We're less than two hundred and fifty miles from the bunker; it was easy to find when I saw you were no longer there."

Missouri decided it was time to turn around in her seat. She set her mug on the table and twisted her body away from Sam to prop her forearm across the back of the chair. She took in the sight of Castiel for the first time. Medium-short, dark brown -almost black- hair sat in disarray on top of his head. He would be considered tall if one didn't have Sam and Dean around for comparison. Piercing blue eyes regarded her just as she regarded him. A haze of a five o'clock shadow covered his jaw. He was easy to look at, she decided, but mentally, he was quite impossible to understand.

"Missouri, this is Cas," Sam's voice came from the table behind her. "Cas, this is our friend, Missouri. She's-"

"A psychic," Castiel finished for him.

"Yeah."

Missouri rubbed at her chin with the knuckle of her first finger, letting a row of bangles fall down her forearm with a clink. "Well ain't you colorful?"

Castiel looked down at his suit and trenchcoat for a moment then back at Missouri, his eyes slightly squinted, "I am wearing only three colors. They are all considered very muted."

"Not your clothes, good-lookin'. Your mind." Missouri stood and took two steps closer to Castiel, examining him where he stood. Despite the deluge outside, he was dry. "Your thoughts ain't thoughts, not in the way a regular person's are. They're colors instead of words or images. I can't quite tell what you're like."

"I like bees," Castiel replied.

Missouri clicked her tongue behind her teeth. "Not exactly what I meant."

Dean chose that moment to round the corner of the doorway, coming back from the bathroom. The three people already in the room turned their attention to him. Missouri had to smile from the surge of admiration from Sam. He did so love his big brother, even if they wouldn't say the words out loud. What she didn't expect was what thundered through Dean. It didn't content itself to stay in his head; it rocketed through him from head to toe.

"Hey, Cas," Dean's outward demeanor didn't change at all as he made his way back to his chair. The boy should be an expert poker player.

"Hello, Dean."

Missouri looked back at Castiel and the feel of his colors as something about them shifted; that was the best way she could describe it to herself. A bright red expanded then dominated his thoughts. She looked at Sam, eyes wide. "They have no idea, do they?" She could have kicked herself the moment the question came out of her mouth. Sam cocked his head in confusion. Of course. Sam didn't know either.

"About what?" he asked.

"The angels," she took herself back to her seat and hurriedly covered her mistake with the first topic that came to mind. "They don't know what's causing the rain, do they?"

"Actually, we do," Castiel's comment brought Missouri's attention back to him. It had been remarkably easy to lead them away from her blunder. All business, these men. "At least, we think we do."

"You think?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Castiel moved closer to the table to continue the conversation. He chose to stand somewhat between Missouri and Dean rather than taking the fourth chair. "We think it's God."

"Chuck?" Sam inquired. "Has anybody heard from Him since He disappeared with The Darkness?"

"Heard from Him, no. But this appears to be the same work as before."

"Before?"

"The Great Flood," Castiel continued. "In the time of Noah, the Lord brought rain for forty days and forty nights to wash away the corruption His creations had wrought. Now the skies are, once again, pouring across the world."

"That can't be right," Missouri countered softly. The angel squinted at her objection, only serving to strengthen her resolve to call him out. "The rainbow. God promised He'd never flood the world again. 'This is the token of the covenant, which I have established between me and all flesh that is upon the earth.'" Surprise from Dean turned her head to the older Winchester. "You got something to say?"

Dean put his hands out in front of himself in a defensive pose. "I just didn't think you'd be quoting scripture at us."

"Just because I'm psychic don't mean I can't read the Bible, Dean."

"Well yeah, I mean, well," Dean stammered under her stern expression.

"You've never read it," Missouri realized. "In all of your years of research, in knowing that God is real. You've never taken the time to read His book."

"Technically, the Bible was written by man," Castiel interjected. "Therefore, full of inconsistencies and errors."

"And is the rainbow -is God's promise- one of these errors?"

"As of right now, we don't know," he admitted.

"Well, you better get to figuring it out if you're going to blame this rain on Him, don't you think?" Missouri couldn't hold back the edge of anger that sharpened her tone.

Sam cleared his throat and slid his chair back from the table to unfold his long legs and stand up. "Ah, we should probably get going," he said. The poor boy surely did not like to see confrontation between his friends. "Thanks for the coffee, Missouri."

"My door is open any time, Sam," Missouri replied warmly. Dean made to stand as well, but Missouri reached out to touch his hand. "A moment, please, Dean. If you would." She looked up at Sam, "Alone." Dean hesitated halfway into standing then lowered back into his chair. He nodded at the other two men to show he would be joining them at the door. Castiel favored Missouri with a polite dip of his head, which she returned, before he followed Sam out of the kitchen.

Missouri kept her fingertips on the back of Dean's hand and regarded his thoughts as he watched the others leave the room. When he turned his eyes to hers, she withdrew her touch and folded her hands in her lap. She let the silence stretch between them, let Dean attempt to organize his thoughts. Though the longer she sat, the faster his mind raced, trying to figure out what she wanted to talk about. There was a small, perhaps hidden part of him that knew, and that part didn't want to talk about it, so it pushed the idea to the far recesses of his mind. But it was there, nonetheless.

Finally, he couldn't hold back, and his tone was slightly defensive, "What?"

"Why did you come to see me today?" Her voice was much softer than his.

Dean's brow drew down. "The rain?"

Missouri wondered if the silent duh at the end of that sentence could have been any louder. She chose to ignore it.

"Now what kind of sense does that make? All the messes you boys've been in, all the times you've been just a few hours down the road, times when I truly could have helped... only once have you darkened my doorway. But now you're here. So I ask again. Why?"

Dean's many thoughts were being narrowed down, but he was still fighting it. Missouri reached for his hand again, but he yanked both away and hid them in his lap. He tried to hide himself in a wall of defiance, but for a psychic, it was more of a chain link fence; she could see right through it.

"Remember when we first met?" she asked. "I told you that people don't come to me for the truth; they come for good news. You remember that?" He remembered, and his tiny nod confirmed it. "Same as anyone else, you don't want the truth. But I'm gonna give it to you. A little bit, anyway. Only as much as you need right now."

Dean swallowed hard, his adam's apple straining against his throat. Missouri eyed him, picking out just how much he would be willing to hear.

"A reaction like that, after -what?- eight years? That means it ain't going away, no matter how hard you try to push it under or deny it. And sooner or later, Dean, you're gonna have to address it. You understand me?"

Dean's face hardened, and his thoughts rebelled at her words. He was shutting down on her. "Is that all?" he asked gruffly.

"Until you're ready to talk again, yes." As soon as her sentence was spoken, Dean was on his feet. "I'll see you next time, Dean. You know where to find me."

He left the room on swift, heavy feet. There was a rustling of jackets being donned, and she heard the front door open, allowing the noise of the rain to pour into the house. She felt -or heard- the flutter of Castiel's wings in her head as he disappeared. She wondered briefly if the angel had been able to hear the private conversation she had requested of Dean. How keen was his hearing? The door closed, muting the sound of rain and the brothers' thoughts. She expected she would be seeing Dean again sooner than he realized.

.oOo.

That night, Dean lay supine in his bed covered to his waist with his blanket, revealing only a clean, black t-shirt. The small light on the bedside table was shining through the old, dull lampshade as he stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. The fingers of his right hand were splayed out, and he pressed his whole hand against the memory foam of the mattress then relaxed, allowing the foam to fill back into the empty space before doing it again. The motion was thoughtless, which was just as well because his actual thoughts were on the conversation he had had with Missouri.

The psychic had known -better than he did- why he had insisted to Sam that they go visit her. Missouri's comments to Dean had been near exact echos of Sam's earlier reluctance.

_"Why do you want to see Missouri?" Sam's question sounded reasonable enough._

_"Why not?" Dean countered. "She's the closest ally we have where we don't have to drive in this crap all day."_

_"Yeah, but it's not like we've made a habit of asking for her help over the years."_

_Dean could only shrug at that._

_"Besides," Sam continued. "What makes you think she can help us anyway? What can she tell us that Cas can't? That the angels can't?"_

_The question about Cas made Dean shift. "I don't know, Sam. It's just... with Mom back, it made me think of the help Missouri gave us back in the day, and..." he trailed off. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't exactly a good answer to Sam's first question of 'why?' As Dean groped for words to convince Sam, though, what he had already said seemed to be enough for his little brother._

_"Okay."_

Okay. It had been that easy. Say something about Mom, and Sam was willing to relent and accept. It was worth remembering; that trick might be handy in the future.

But Missouri knew it hadn't been about the rain. Oh, sure, she had given them the courtesy of hearing them out, but she had honed in on exactly what had been dancing through Dean's skull even when he, himself, had been unable to do so. He still didn't want to admit it, and every time a cohesive thought on the subject tried to form in his head, he dashed it away. His hand pressed into the mattress again. Release. Press. Release.

He knew that if he was going to lie awake all night, he should be trying to focus on what he knew about Chuck and how he could lend a hand to find Him. But how does one find God? Their past searches had done nothing more than to prove to them God could not be found if He chose to remain hidden. "Chuck Shurley – Hide and Seek champion since the dawn of time," Dean muttered to himself. Press. Release.

_Sooner or later, Dean, you're gonna have to address it._ An image of squinted blue eyes flashed into his thoughts. No. Where's Chuck? Press. Release. The last anyone saw of Him, He was nothing more than a brilliant white light, intermingling with Amara's ashy, black smoke. Dean had watched as they ascended and assumed they were going to Heaven, but the angels claimed He wasn't there, that neither of them were.

_It ain't going away._ Dean's hand clenched into a fist, and he hammered it into the foam, using the momentum to throw himself upright. He kicked away the blanket and got to his feet. He needed to walk. To clear his head. His grey robe was hanging from a hook on the back of his bedroom door. Before leaving his room, he made sure to snatch it and shove his arms through the sleeves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *please don't fight me; I am soft.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 2**

Sam stumbled, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen. Some mornings, he felt great after a good night's sleep and wanted to get up early and go out for a run. Some mornings, like this one, he had to drag himself out of bed after not sleeping well at all and only wanted an entire pot of coffee to himself. His long legs took him to the coffee pot, and he was already pulling the filter out before he realized it was warm. He blinked and focused; there was enough hot coffee left for one more cup. Dean must be up. Sam gratefully poured himself the last cup and took a sip before setting to preparing another pot. Coffee before making coffee; it was a thing to appreciate. Once the next batch was happily gurgling through the maker, Sam picked up his mug again and made his way into the library in search of his brother.

Dean was sitting back in one of the soft chairs near a bookshelf. His feet were propped on a small table next to his coffee mug. The decanter set that usually lived on it was neatly set aside on one of the main library tables. Between his hands was an old, leather-bound book. Judging by how sunken down into the chair Dean was, Sam guessed he had been reading for quite a while. That, and the darkness around Dean's eyes made Sam wonder if his brother had slept at all. At his first glance, Sam hadn't truly paid attention to the title on the book cover, but another look brought it into focus. _Holy Bible. _

"The Bible, Dean? Really?"

Dean's light green gaze flicked up at Sam then back down to the open pages of the book. "Yep."

"Huh. I guess what Missouri said really hit home for you." Sam watched as his comment caused Dean's eyes to stop moving across the page. He simply stared at one spot, lost in thought, not seeming to even see what he was looking at. Sam's brow gave an upward twitch as he let a short, soft exhale puff from his mouth. She really had made an impact on Dean. Just one mention of it, and now his brother was reading the Bible, of all things. Sam shrugged and sat down at the library table. Stranger things -much stranger things- had happened in their lives. What was one self-imposed reading assignment against some of the other happenings?

"Finding anything useful?" Sam asked. "Like where God might be right now?"

"'Then said Saul unto his servants,'" Dean read. "'"Seek me a woman that hath a familiar spirit, that I may go to her, and enquire of her." And his servants said to him, "Behold, there is a woman that hath a familiar spirit at Endor."'" Dean closed the book on one finger and ran his other hand down his face. He turned the motion into sitting up in his chair. He dropped his feet to the floor and reached forward for the mug.

"Did you pick that out because we talked to Missouri?" Sam asked as Dean grimaced into what was left in the mug.

"No, that's where I just happened to be reading. Did you make more coffee?" Dean set the Bible on the now empty small table and got to his feet.

"Yeah." Sam had already drained his cup, so he accompanied Dean into the kitchen. "Don't you think it means something that you 'just happened' to be reading about going to a psychic?"

"No, I don't," Dean replied. He finished pouring his own cup and lifted the pot slightly in an offer to pour for Sam. Sam held out his empty mug to accept. "Because if you had asked about Chuck ten seconds sooner or later, I would have read a different passage to you. Why do you have to find a meaning in it?"

"I don't know. I just think maybe it means we should go back to Missouri and talk to her again."

"Oh, now you want to go see her?" Dean scoffed. "You weren't so interested in it yesterday."

Dean was right; he hadn't wanted to. But that had been before they had found out Missouri was well-versed in Biblical lore. "Maybe we can pick her brain, get a take from a non-angelic point of view that Cas would be unable to give us. I mean, Cas is sure that whatever's going on with the rain is because of Chuck, but Missouri swears it's not Him. I just think it'd be smart to hear her out, maybe get a new opinion."

"You want to go, go," Dean replied. "I'm not stopping you."

"You're not coming?"

"Not this time; I can go later."

"Dean, if Cas is right, the flood level out there is only going to get higher. Forty days and forty nights is a long time for rain. This might be our last chance to go see Missouri if we can't get this figured out."

"So bring her back here. We have higher ground here than she does in Lawrence anyway. She'll be safer."

.oOo.

As Sam got himself ready to drive to Lawrence, Dean attempted to bury himself back into the mentally arduous task of reading the Bible. He could admit to himself that more than half of what he had already read hadn't stuck. It was boring stuff. He decided to start 1 Samuel 28 over again, but when he got to the seventh verse -the one he had read aloud to Sam- he paused. Maybe Sam was right; maybe it hadn't been coincidence that he happened to have been reading that particular line when Sam asked if he had anything on Chuck. How often did coincidences happen for them anyway? Pretty much never. Which meant Sam was right in going back to see Missouri. Which meant Dean should probably go with him.

He closed his eyes and rolled his neck, trying to allieviate some tension. He wasn't sure he was ready to face her again, knowing she could read him better than he was reading this book. Even when he wasn't actively thinking about--

With a brusque shake of his head, Dean plowed that train of thought right off the tracks. He didn't want to actively think about it, he didn't want to address it, and he certainly didn't want Missouri chastising him over those facts. So that brought him back to asking himself why he had wanted to seek her out to begin with. If he didn't even want to think about it, why the hell would he involve a psychic? With a sigh, Dean tossed the Bible back onto the little table and got to his feet. In his stride to the bedroom hallway, he bumped into Sam at the foot of the staircase.

"You change your mind?" Sam asked. He looked ready to leave.

"No, I'm just headed to the shower," Dean replied. "I'll see you later this afternoon."

"'Kay." Sam's footsteps rattled the metal staircase as he ascended. Dean slipped into the hall and, staying true to his word, made his way to the bathroom and a hot shower. Behind him, he heard the heavy door boom shut to announce his brother's exit.

Minutes later, Dean was standing under steaming water thudding against his skin. He tried to clear his mind of everything except how great the water pressure was. It wasn't working. He kicked himself for a dumbass. He had declined going with Sam because he didn't want to talk to Missouri, but what did he do instead? Told Sam to bring the psychic back to their bunker. Why had he done that? He snatched up a fresh wash rag and a bar of soap, scorning the bath puff and liquid soap Sam preferred. He rubbed a good, foamy lather into the rag, his mind still working furiously. Of course he had told Sam to bring Missouri. Global flood, higher elevation. It made sense. They save people, and she'd be safer in the bunker than her house right now. It had nothing to do with her helping him sift through the mess in his head. The mess that swirled around him every single damn time that angel was nearby.

He stopped scrubbing the rag across his chest and simply held it there as he let the water pound against his back. It warred with the pounding he felt under his hand. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He shouldn't be feeling like-- Dean huffed and returned to cleaning his body with more vigor, speeding things along, as though by getting out of the shower, he could get away from these thoughts. Though he knew it was fruitless, he went through the motions anyhow and fled the bathroom as soon as he was dry.

Exhausted and clean, Dean flopped himself onto his unmade bed with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He hadn't slept at all; maybe he should try now. He should probably put something more than a towel on; get under the blanket. When had he closed his eyes? He was vaguely aware that one leg was still out of the bed with his bare foot on the floor. He couldn't bring himself to put forth the energy to lift it up. As he drifted, one last waking thought forced its way to the forefront, a thought he was too tired to push away, and that was to wonder where his angel was.

.oOo.

"This next stage is pretty simple too. You just split that water from this water."

"Evenly?"

"That's up to you; it's yours. Do you want one to be bigger than the other?"

.oOo.

It should have taken only two and a half hours for Sam to drive from Lebanon to Lawrence, but heavy rain and standing water on some roads -plus the fact it had still been dark when he first left the bunker- had slowed his trip by more than an hour. Sunrise had been sometime around 7:30, which was before he left, but the dense clouds had kept back the light until he was well on his way down the road. In any case, it was close to lunch time when Sam knocked on Missouri's door.

Missouri opened her door and quickly ushered Sam in from the rain. "It's a mess out there," she noted as she gave a passing glance to the storm before closing the door. Sam dutifully removed his coat before being instructed and hung it on the same hook as he had the previous day. He adjusted the shoulders of his flannel shirt and pushed back his wet hair.

"Got another towel for me?" he asked with a good-natured smile. Missouri smiled back and nodded her head toward the kitchen.

"Let's go get you dried off, darlin'." She accepted Sam's arm gesture for her to lead the way. He followed, once again trailing water behind him. There were no towels on the table in the breakfast nook this time, nor did Sam smell coffee. Before he could make mention of it, Missouri spoke, "No, I wasn't expecting you this time."

"Maybe I wasn't as loud with my thoughts while alone as Dean and I were together," Sam offered as a half joke.

"Could be," Missouri allowed. She left the room down the hall where Dean had disappered the previous day and came back shortly with a towel in hand. "Here ya go."

Sam accepted the towel and pressed it to the base of his neck, giving his long hair a scrub, "Thanks."

"You know, you could invest in an umbrella instead of using up my towels," Missouri said, prompting a smile from Sam. "Of course, neither would matter much once you extend your invitation."

"Oh, uh," Sam's vigorous hair drying slowed. "I just got here; I haven't really had a chance..."

"But you were going to take your sweet time with it. Try to work it into the conversation somehow, wait until the right moment to bring it up. I swear, Sam Winchester, you are too polite by half sometimes."

Sam smiled wryly, remembering just how polite he wasn't when he had gotten back from the Cage without his soul. Of course, because those thoughts were forefront, Missouri could tell exactly what he was thinking about. She gave him knowing smile, and he appreciated it when she didn't say anything about that time in his life. "So does that mean you'll come?"

"I ain't going anywhere without lunch," Missouri replied. She walked into the kitchen and started gathering sundries from her pantry. "I bought myself some veal the other day, and if you're gonna whisk me away with no guarantee that my house won't fill with water while I'm gone, I want to enjoy this meal."

Sam took a seat at the small table and watched as she prepared a dough. After a few minutes of not seeing any meat, he said, "I thought you said you were making veal."

"I am," Missouri replied. "This is just a quickbread to go with it."

"Quickbread?"  
  


"No yeast; no need to wait for it to rise. Don't worry, darlin'. We'll be out of here sooner than you think." She continued to work, and after the next stretch of quiet, she let her voice take on a serious note. "You didn't have too good of a rest last night, Sam. Why not?"

Sam blinked at the change of subject. He carefully folded the towel and set it on the table, and in his silence realized he didn't really want to talk about it. But Missouri had asked, so he felt it was right to at least say something. "It's Mom. I just worry about her, that's all. I called her on the way here, though. She's safe. Said she'll stay put until we get this figured out."

Missouri stayed quiet as she formed the dough into a ball. Sam knew the tactic; she was waiting for him to get uncomfortable and keep talking. Riding thousands of miles with Dean, though, had given Sam years of practice with silences. He rarely let them unnerve him anymore. After a while, the psychic nodded her head.

"Well, okay then," she said softly. She plopped the dough into a pan and finished it off with knifing and X into the top and brushing some mixture of liquid over the whole thing. She slid the pan into the preheated oven and turned to Sam with an air of satisfaction. "It takes about an hour for Irish soda bread to bake. You're gonna be sharing it with me, aren't you?"

"Oh, um, no thank you."

Missouri crossed her arms with an irritated sigh. "Haven't we been through this?"

"Through what?"

"You think you're being polite, but you just need to say 'yes please.' If Dean were here, he'd accept the food, and he'd insist you eat too. You'd listen to him, wouldn't you?" She paused after her rhetorical question and cocked her head. "Speaking of Dean, why didn't he come with you?"

"He was reading."

"Reading."

"The Bible."

"Was he now?" Missouri looked amused.

"Yeah, I think he was up all night. He was reading when I got up."

"Any part in particular?"

"Uh, well, when I asked, he read out a line about seeking out a medium." Sam rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "It kinda made me think we needed to come back to see you."

"First Samuel, twenty-eight," Missouri mumbled.

"What?"

"I'm willing to bet that's the book and chapter he was on," Missouri explained. Then quietly -almost to herself- she continued, "And funny if so, given the last few verses of that chapter."

"Oh," Sam replied, not knowing what she meant. He wondered if Missouri thought it was dumb of him to have used a Bible verse as a reason to come get her. When Missouri smiled, he wished he could take the thought back and hide it. She smiled wider. "I'm going to step upstairs and gather some things to take with me when we leave. You're welcome to make yourself comfortable while the bread is baking. There's a book shelf in the living room." With that, Missouri excused herself from the room, toward the staircase in the hallway. Sam listened as her feet padded up the wooden steps.

He wandered into the living room and planted himself in front of the book shelf Missouri had mentioned. As his eyes skimmed titles, one in particular stood out. Bound in worn, dark blue leather was a book that had seen many years of handling, based on the series of lines creased through the faded, golden lettering on the spine which proclaimed it to be the Holy Bible. Sam slipped it from its spot and let it fall open in his hands. He flipped to 1 Samuel and found the twenty-eighth chapter. It was short, only twenty-five verses. His eyes landed on the end of the chapter, on what Missouri had said would be funny, and read it out loud.

"Now therefore, I pray thee, hearken thou also unto the voice of thine handmaid, and let me set a morsel of bread before thee; and eat, that thou mayest have strength, when thou goest on thy way.But he refused, and said, I will not eat. But his servants, together with the woman, compelled him; and he hearkened unto their voice. So he arose from the earth, and sat upon the bed.And the woman had a fat calf in the house; and she hasted, and killed it, and took flour, and kneaded it, and did bake unleavened bread thereof:And she brought it before Saul, and before his servants; and they did eat. Then they rose up, and went away that night." Sam let out a sharp exhale as he closed the book. "Veal and quickbread," he mumbled and put the Bible back on the shelf.

.oOo.

"No. NO!!" Dean woke with a start, lifting up and groping out into the empty space before him, reaching, trying to hold on to... to... His hand closed on air. To what? He couldn't remember; the dream melted away. He let himself flop back onto the bed and dropped his hand to his chest. He suddenly realized how cold he was. A downward glance reminded him that he was wrapped in nothing more than a towel from his earlier shower, and that still slightly damp where it was pressed between his body and the mattress. The bare foot on the floor was damn near frozen. Dean got himself up and dressed. Clean t-shirt and boxers, relaxed cut jeans and a blue and brown flannel. Habit made him roll one sleeve to his elbow before he thought better of it and kept both sleeves down for warmth. He also briefly considered two pairs of socks but settled on one. Moving around would warm him up.

As he dressed, he strained to remember his dream. What had been so important? It had been something... something he couldn't imagine his life without. He shrugged it away; dreams were wacky things anyway. Once he had even dreamed he had been mining geodes with Sam and found one that looked like lady bits, clit and all. The memory made him grin to himself.

His stomach rumbled loudly. Never one to argue with the boss, Dean headed toward the kitchen, making sure to grab his cell phone from its charger as he passed it. He did a quick check for missed calls or texts. None. Then he focused on the time. Almost three thirty. Damn, had he really slept that long? If Sam wasn't back yet, he would be soon.

"Sammy?" Dean called out when he reached the kitchen. "You back?" When he got no answer from further rooms, he shrugged and opened the refrigerator. "More for me."

In terms of grab-and-go, there was little more than leftover Chinese of a questionable age inside the fridge. Given the fact he couldn't remember just how old it was, he decided to pass. He opened the freezer instead. Microwave burritos. Yes. He grabbed two. At least he knew exactly what these would do to his guts; the same couldn't be said for the Chinese.

He put both burritos on a plate and popped them in the microwave. To amuse himself while watching the timer, he began humming Europe's "Final Countdown," but when he got to the chorus, he was no longer content with humming. "The bur-rito count-dowwwn! Duh-nuh-nuh-nuuhh! Duh-nuh-nunt-nunt-nuh!" The timer beeped, but Dean was on a roll. To avoid burning the inside of his face, he would have to let them cool anyway. He continued singing -the actual words now- and put the plate on the counter. The performance evolved to include air guitar and some sweet dance moves; at least they were to his mind. His fingers and tongue flew through the guitar solo, head bobbing to the beat, and with a flourish, he spun around.

There stood Sam and Missouri.

Dean's singing faltered, and his hands slowly lowered from his air guitar. Missouri had the good grace to at least attempt to hide her amusement, the corners of her mouth trying to curl up into a smile while she fought them back down into a straight face. Sam, on the other hand, smirked openly. "Don't let us stop you, John Norum."

Disgruntled from being interrupted, Dean snatched up his plate of burritos without replying. Sam eyed them, and then for some reason turned to Missouri to say with sincerity, "Thank you very much for lunch."

"You're quite welcome, darlin'."

.oOo.

The three of them retired to the library, Dean with his plate of burritos and looking slightly surly for the interruption of his music and dance number. Missouri sat first, choosing to put herself at the head of one table. The brothers followed suit, sitting across from each other at the same table. Dean immediately tucked into his first burrito.

"So what do we know?" Missouri started off the conversation.

"Mm," Dean replied with a mouthful of food. He stuffed the bite into his cheek. She saw that he would be giving her no preferential treatment when it came to his eating habits. "We got exactly jack with a side of squat."

Sam cast a distasteful look across the table at his brother, and Missouri felt a burst of embarrassment accompany it. Polite boy. "We _do _know that some entity – presumably powerful – has started a global rainfall."

"But not what, or even who," Missouri prompted.

"Well, no."

"Jack and squat," Dean piped in. Sam ignored him.

"But the angels think it's God."

"And I think it's not," Missouri's rebuttal was spoken more harshly than she intended. "He wouldn't do this. He promised."

"And you believe that," the scorn in Dean's voice matched what he was feeling.

"With all my heart. Honey, you have been given more reasons than most to be skeptical, I know. But in this, your skepticism cannot and will not shake my faith."

"Then what about what Cas said?" Sam asked. "The angels-"

"The angels can take what they said and shove it-" _flutter flap_ "-right up their winged rear ends." Missouri paused to feel the colors in the head of the angel behind her. "Hello again, Castiel."

When Castiel appeared behind Missouri, she felt the quickening of the brothers' thoughts. They were both concerned over how he would react to her disrespectful comment. Dean held some edge of amusement too; apparently he had been caught in a similar situation before, and he was looking forward to seeing how Missouri would continue. There was also a tightness inside him, the careful guarding of thoughts that did not show on his face but screamed through his head and into hers. Bless it. Castiel, to his credit, chose to respond only to her greeting and ignored what else she had said.

He stepped around from behind her and stood next to where Sam sat, "Hello." His eyes swept the two men at the table, acknowledging them along with Missouri.

"Are you here to tell us your angels still think God is responsible for this rain?" Missouri challenged.

"Actually, no," Castiel replied. "There has been much discussion on the matter, and the majority of the angels have come to the same conclusion as you. There is some dissension, though. Some still insist that since God was willing to forsake us before, they have no reason to believe He would hold to His promises. The counter-arguement is that God never promised He would not leave us, but He did promise never to flood the world again."

Missouri nodded with satisfaction.

"Then if it's not God, who is it?" Dean demanded.

"We're working on that."

"Working on it?" Dean let the frustration he felt lace his words. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means we're working on it, Dean." Frustration was flung back. A sickly greenish-yellow oozed from Castiel. Missouri was suddenly acutely aware that the colors of the angel's emotions coincided with candle magic. Interesting. "It was hard enough to get a majority vote from the angels to not blame this on God. I am going to require patience from you."

"Patience? I don't have the luxury of patience right now." Dean slid his chair back and stood, leaning forward across the table menacingly. One hand was planted firmly on the surface, the other was balled in a fist with one finger poking the tabletop. His volume increased with the anger that stabbed from him. "My world is filling up like a bath tub without a drain. I don't need patience! I need answers!" He pointed the finger at Castiel. "And you and your damn angels are sitting up there in Heaven having a freaking debate!" The last word was punctuated with his hand slapping the table.

"What makes you think we're not doing all we can?"  
  


"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you show up here only to tell us that you and the rest of the Ents have taken a full twenty-four hours to decide that we're not orcs."

Sam, who had been trying to get a word in edge-wise, suddenly stopped his attempts as surprise trilled through his thoughts. He apparently hadn't expected that reference from Dean. It also gave Castiel pause. Green faded from the yellow; he was puzzling through what Dean had said, but some of the greenish part still held on. Confusion could not wash away the anger. The lull was enough for Missouri to softly clear her throat in an attempt to pull all attention to herself. Sam was the only one who actually turned his head.

"Sam, I'll have some coffee, if you don't mind."

"Oh, right." Sam stood quickly, anxiety waving through him over his inability to have smoothed over the fight between his brother and his friend. "I should have already offered-"

"Don't you worry about that, darlin'. But I could use some now."

"Yeah. Of course." He left the room. Missouri turned a steely gaze first to Dean who was still propped on the table and then to Castiel. Neither of them looked at her. They were locked in a contest of wills. As he stared down Dean, a tendril of red wormed its way into the greenish-yellow of Castiel's mind and expanded, pushing the nastier color out of the way. The greenish-yellow fought back to close around it, but the red was winning. The yellow was receding as his focus on Dean's last comment ebbed, unimportant. His mind truly was fascinating to examine. Dean, on the other hand, had tamped down everything and was wrapping himself in the blistering anger and frustration he felt at Castiel's words. It felt safe to him, this emotion he knew well, so he hid in it.

"Just what do two think this is going to accomplish?" Missouri began. She waited for a moment to let them know the question wasn't exactly rhetorical. When they both eased down and looked at her, she continued. Her voice was firm. Dean was right; they were running out of time. "We have a real crisis on our hands, and you two are bickering like you don't have nothin' better to do with yourselves. It might occur to you that you wouldn't be fighting so much if you would just acknowledge this unspoken connection y'all got stretched out between you. It's causing tension, and even with as little as I've been around it, I am just sick of it. I don't know whether to slap the pair of you or lock you together in a closet until you get this sorted out. But I tell you what, I don't want to have another conversation with you until y'all stop ignoring it and talk about it."

.oOo.

Missouri took herself out of the room at the end of her tirade, leaving Dean and Cas in uncomfortable silence. They both shifted in their own space on opposite sides of the table. Dean ran his hand down his face and turned the motion into cupping and rubbing the back of his neck. Cas fiddled with the pockets of his trench coat. They both avoided each others' gaze.

"This library is much more spacious than a closet," Cas muttered, breaking the silence.

Dean grimaced, "Yeah, well I don't usually bow down to people forcing me to do things I don't want to do." Cas nodded, and the room fell back to silence. Finally, Dean turned on his heel and started out of the room. "Come on; before Dr. Phil comes back."

"Where are we going?" Cas asked as he followed.

"My room," Dean replied. "At least behind a closed door, we can pretend we talked about whatever."

"The psychic will know what we did or did not talk about," Cas countered as Dean walked into his bedroom.

"So? I'm still not going to stand around in there so she can bust back in whenever she wants and demand we talk about whatever she wants." Dean waited until Cas had cleared the doorway then closed the door. Silence settled over them again. Cas continued to gently flap the sides of his coat by way of patting his pocketed hands against the sides of his thighs. Dean crossed the room and began thumbing through his record collection. "Any preference?" he asked.

Cas joined him at the box of albums and peered around Dean's shoulder to see the titles. As soon as Dean felt the heat of Cas's body next to him, he snatched the next record he touched out of the collection and whirled to face the angel. "This'll do." He held the record between them in both hands, as though holding a shield. Cas didn't move; his blue eyes caught Dean's green, and Dean froze. He swallowed heavily, and he cleared his throat before speaking. "The, uh, the... player... is um." He pointed at the turntable sitting neatly on the shelf near the record box. Cas was inside Dean's personal space, though, blocking Dean from moving toward it. Cas turned his head to follow where Dean was pointing then looked back at him.

"My apologies." He moved away a few steps, allowing Dean access to the record player.

Dean slipped the vinyl from its paper jacket, set it on the platter, and placed the needle. The first notes of "Good Times Bad Times" rang out, and that was when Dean noticed the fact he had grabbed Led Zeppelin I. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him for probably a full minute. Zeppelin was his favorite, after all. That was better; he could relax now. He turned around to face the angel standing in the middle of his room, and his insides tightened again. Dammit.

For eight long years, he had worked so hard to hold it in, to keep it buried. Before Missouri started dredging it up, he had been able to ignore it -for the most part- and just call Cas his best friend. He had been able to pretend what he felt was platonic love, and that was good. That was enough. But now... Now what? Based on the way Missouri had talked, it sounded like Cas had something going on inside of him as well. She had told them to stop ignoring it, to sort it out. To address it. He realized he had been quiet for too long when Cas finally spoke.

"You... have a lot on your mind."

"Yeah."

Cas accepted his one word with another nod. The silence between them took over yet again, made only slightly less awkward with "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" playing from the record. Dean sighed and took a seat at the foot of his bed. He propped his forearms on his knees, leaning forward, and worried his hands together. Cas sat down to the left of him, finally taking his hands out of his pockets and placing them on his thighs. Dean felt Cas looking at him. He looked up, and Cas hurriedly turned his face to stare forward. This was stupid. They had to come up with a safe topic and forget this whole thing.

"So do you think psychics can hear when we're yelling?"

"What?" Cas gave him a perplexed expression.

"In our heads," Dean continued, anxious to have something -anything- to talk about that wasn't what Missouri had instructed of them. "We can't actually change the volume in our minds, so do you think Missouri can tell if we're yelling or whispering?"

"I... hadn't considered it. She said she cannot hear my thoughts anyhow. My mind is simply colors to her."

"Or," Dean plowed on, "maybe it's louder or quieter based on how close we are to her. Like," he leaned sideways and back, away from Cas. "Over here, I'm whispering." He sat back up and leaned in toward Cas, pressing their shoulders together, "But up close, I'm..."

Dean trailed off as Cas turned his head to look more fully at him. Their eyes were mere inches apart, so close, Dean couldn't focus his vision. Cas lowered his chin, and that small movement was enough to make their foreheads touch. It shouldn't have been a big deal. It wasn't a big deal. Dean couldn't convince himself. His heart thudded in his chest as that stunning shade of blue swam before his eyes. He let them drift shut. Though even behind his lids, he could still see Cas's gaze. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Dean allowed his head to move against Cas, feeling Cas doing the same. Their noses brushed each other. He could feel the heat of Cas's breath against his lips.

Nuzzling. They were freaking nuzzling. As the realization struck Dean, he opened his eyes and started to pull back, but in that moment, Cas's left hand was against his right cheek. The touch was light as had been their faces against each other. The angel wasn't holding Dean in place, but the fingertips on his face might as well have been a vice grip for all they were keeping him from moving. He searched Cas's eyes. He didn't know what he was looking for, and even if he did, he wouldn't have found it. Cas's face was as straight and unreadable as Dean hoped his own was. He stood slowly, acutely aware of Cas's hand leaving his cheek.

"Dean-"

"Cas, no." Whatever Cas had been about to say, Dean wasn't sure he could hear it right then. He headed for the door and opened it. There was a pull inside of him that wanted to look back over his shoulder, but he resisted. Their blank masks might not be holding any longer, and he was afraid of what he might see on the angel's face. Or what he might show on his own. As he walked away from the room, the lyrics followed him down the hall.

"I know, I know / I know I never never never never never gonna leave you, babe / But I got to go away from this place."

.oOo.

It was 2:37 in the morning. Everyone slept, and all the lights were off. Except for one and one. In the nook atop the metal stairs overlooking the control room, Cas sat at a table, his profile illuminated by a single lamp. Two things kept him company: the quiet tick of a clock and his own thoughts. Of the two, Cas found he preferred the clock. He was completely baffled. He had spent some few years on Earth. Not even an eye blink compared to the whole of his existence, but he had learned that eight years was a respectable length of time to spend with the same people. He had worked to understand humans and how to interact with them. It had taken him a while to pick up nuances and react in such a way that befitted humankind. By now, he liked to think he had gotten quite good at it, particularly after spending his own time as a human, brief though it was.

This situation involving Dean was unlike any other, however, and he was struggling to make sense of it. His time as a human had intensified emotions as he knew them, and it was then he had truly begun to grasp and understand exactly what emotions Dean elicited from him, emotions he did not feel toward Sam. That had confused him at first. They were both his friends, so he should feel the same way toward both of them, should he not? But he learned over time that "friend" was too simple a word to be putting toward this feeling regarding Dean.

As Cas figured these things out for himself, Dean had not been acting in any way that suggested he saw him as anything but a friend. Perhaps a best friend; definitely a best friend. Dean had said as much at one point, calling Cas the best friend the brothers had ever had. Cas remembered that moment with fondness, for Dean did not often share his feelings. Friends; best friends. And Cas had learned enough of how to interact with humans to treat Dean accordingly. He had not necessarily wanted to. These emotions he carried intrigued him, and he wanted to express them, but Dean had been very adamant about simple things like personal space, so he conceded. Because respecting boundaries was what friends did for one another, and Cas was willing to accept his place as Dean's best friend.

What currently confused him was that the happenings from the evening were not what he perceived to be the actions of a friend. Cas was certain he had taken the social cues and responded appropriately. He furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly as he once again mentally replayed each detail. Dean had made the suggestion to close themselves into a room for privacy. Dean had chosen music for "the mood," such as it were. Dean had sat down on the bed. Dean had leaned in close to him. Dean had closed his eyes when their skin touched. It all pointed to Dean feeling, well, more than a best friend. Then there was the prodding from Missouri for them to stop ignoring an unspoken connection. Cas knew by now how he felt, and according to Missouri's words and Dean's own actions, Dean seemed to feel the same way. So Cas had touched his face. It should have been the right thing to do in that moment. But then why did Dean move back and say no? Why did he walk away? Had Cas misread his behaviors?

The clock continued to tick, and Cas's thoughts continued to churn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that one does not walk through the library to get to the kitchen, but for these scenes to work smoothly, I had to rearrange the Bunker a little bit. Bear with me. xoxo

**Day 3**

Dean poured three fingers of bourbon into a high ball glass and set the topper back into the decanter. Driving in heavy rain was stressful enough, but add in flooded streets, and he was just glad he had gotten his Baby home and parked in the garage without hydro-locking her. The morning had been spent making plans on how to sustain the three humans in the bunker for an undetermined length of time. There would be little to no more venturing out of doors anymore. Once plans had been made, they had to be executed. Unfortunately for them, they weren't the only ones on a mad dash for all the canned goods and toilet paper in sight. A simple run had turned into an all day excursion. They had just finished cleaning up from dinner and were settling into the library to finally take the time to talk about the rain they had spent most of their day in.

"It's getting pretty bad out there," Sam mused.

"Shyeah," Dean scoffed. "No kidding. Now what are we gonna do about it?"

Sam rubbed at his forehead and pushed his hair back. "Well, even if it's not Chuck-" Missouri sent him a pointed glare which Sam did not miss. "-if it's not God, I still think we need to find him. I spent a few hours doing some online research about rainfall last night. I couldn't find anything of this magnitude except in Biblical lore. The only one who has done this before is God. It just stands to reason He might know what's going on, who might be copying Him."

Dean considered Sam's words with a slow nod and took a deep swig of his drink. He savored the burning as it flowed down his throat and spread through his stomach. "Then how are we gonna go about doing this? The last time we searched for Him, we never found Him. He came to us, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. But we've learned a few things about Him since then. I think we ought to take what we've learned and apply it." Sam shrugged. "I don't know; maybe we'll come across something that'll help us find Him."

Dean stepped to the doorway and looked up to the reading nook above the control room where Cas had been sitting since the others left for supplies that morning. The angel was still staring straight ahead, unmoving. "Cas? We could use your help down here."

"I'm thinking." It was the same clipped reply he had given before and the only thing he had said all day.

"Yeah, well you think you can join us in here and think out loud?"

"No."

Dean threw his hand up in frustration and made a face at the angel, wrinkling his nose and pushing his lips down into an exaggerated frown, letting his mouth open in a silent, mocking 'no.' Cas didn't acknowledge if he saw the gesture. He stalked back to the library table where Sam sat with Missouri. Judging by their faces, they had both seen his stunt. It made him defensive. "What?" he challenged.

Missouri let her eyes swing to Sam. "Sam, darlin', I just remembered that I left my pocketbook in your brother's car. There's something in it that I need. Would you be a dear?"

"Uh, sure," Sam left the room to run the made up errand. Dean knew damn well why Missouri wanted him out of the room, though. It put his back up.

"Yes, exactly that," Missouri said as soon as Sam was out of earshot. She got up from the table and walked to Dean, pitching her voice low for just the two of them. "You're doing it again, letting yourself get worked up and distracted instead of focusing on what very well could become a worldwide tragedy."

"What are you talking about? I'm not distracted; he's not even in here for me to fight with."

"Dean Winchester, don't be dense. I know you're distracted. Not just because I saw that juvenile face you pulled over there but because I see the face you have in _there_." She poked him hard, right in the center of his forehead. Dean jerked back and put a hand to where she had poked him, his brow furrowing. "I told you yesterday, and I meant it," Missouri continued. "I'm not going to discuss the rain with you until you go talk to him-" her eyes flicked to the doorway, where beyond, Cas was still sitting "-and get this resolved. Because until you do, you're both going to keep acting like children, and nothing will get done." She raised her voice. "Castiel."

"I'm thinking."

Missouri marched to the doorway so she could see the angel. Dean edged in behind her and looked up at Cas also. "You are done thinking. Get your feathered behind down these stairs. Now."

Cas blinked and slowly turned his head to face Missouri from his lofty perch. In the next moment, he was standing directly in front of her, staring down at the much shorter woman. "I said I am thinking."

Unfazed, Missouri bowed up. "And I said you are done. What's the use of going over the same thing over and over again anyhow?"

Cas's eyebrow twitched, "You cannot read my thoughts."

"No, but your head is like a kaleidoscope, colors turning and focusing, shifting and refocusing. And for the longest time now, it's been on repeat of the same colors, the same patterns, the same thoughts over and over again. Enough is enough, Castiel." She took him by the arm and reached for Dean's arm with her other hand, leading them to the hallway where the bedrooms were. "Now I mean it; y'all need to address this and get it out of all of our ways. It's affecting everyone, and I mean _everyone_. Normally, I wouldn't rush these things, but the world is running out of time for help, and neither of you two are in the right frame of mind to do that helping." She finished her speech as they stopped at the mouth of the hallway. "Go." She propelled both of them forward with a strength Dean wouldn't have expected from a woman her size. She turned back around at the sound of Sam returning in from the parking garage. "Thank you, darlin'," Missouri's tone sweetened for Sam as the two other men left her and walked to Dean's room. "I think I'm gonna take this to my room and retire for the night."

.oOo.

At Dean's behest to choose the music himself this time, Cas rifled through Dean's record albums as though he had a clue which of them to choose. In truth, he would have had just as much luck in picking an appropriate album blindfolded. He knew nothing of the music on these records. Finally, he spied a black and yellow cover. _Just like bees_, he thought to himself. The word "Genesis" was written in cursive across the top. Given the global flood, it seemed fitting. He mimicked how Dean had carefully gone through the steps to use the turntable to play the music the last time they had been in his room. The first song of this album started with a tapping heartbeat of percussion and strange whining notes. He listened to it for a while, in an act of appreciating the music, just as Dean had done previously.

"Will this suffice?" Cas asked as he turned to Dean who was seated in the room's only chair. His body language was much as it had been last time they were alone. Feet spread, forearms on knees, leaned forward, hands together. Once again, his hands worked against each other signifying that Dean had to fidget in some way. Cas preferred it was his hands; when Dean fidgeted by bouncing a knee, it always ended with him jumping to his feet and walking away, usually in a bad mood. He did not want Dean to walk away.

The first lyrics of the song gave Cas pause. "I can't see you, mama / But I can hardly wait / Oh, to touch and feel you, mama / Oh, I just can't keep away." When Dean looked up from his hands to Cas's face, Cas kept his expression as still and blank as he hoped Dean needed it to be. They held each others' gaze for a long moment. Cas searched wildly in his mind for something to say, but then Dean unexpectedly threw his head back in a hearty laugh.

"I know you didn't do it on purpose, Cas. Sit your ass down," he said. The outer corners of Dean's light green eyes were wrinkled in his amused smile. Cas couldn't help but stare for a bit longer. American culture typically reserved the word "beautiful" as a feminine quality, but he had no better word for Dean's eyes. It was probably a word Dean would not welcome as a descriptor, though. Cas would keep it to himself. He took Dean's invitation to sit on the foot of the bed, centering himself rather than taking the corner nearest where Dean's chair was positioned. Being around Dean was an intricate dance he had been performing for a number of years, warring with himself over wanting to be near him but also respecting Dean's request -demand- for personal space.

"So I guess we're being forced to hide in here again," Dean stated, his smile fading. "Pretend to talk about crap _she_ thinks she sees or hears or whatever in our brains." He waved his hand dismissively with the word "she," obviously not even wanting to say Missouri's name, and slipped it back into his other hand, drywashing them together. He stared down at them as though they were the most interesting things in the room.

"Dean, 'she' is a psychic," Cas said carefully. "She doesn't have to 'think' she sees or hears something. She knows."

Dean continued to wring his hands, but a bounce in his knee came into play as well. Cas eyed the added movement with unease; the wrong word would spring Dean to his feet, and this conversation would end. "How can she know, Cas?" Dean asked softly. "How can she know when I don't even know?" Dean lifted his chin and gave Cas the full weight of his eyes. His emotion-filled, beautiful, light green eyes.

The abruptness of his comment startled Cas, and the look of pain and confusion on Dean's face squeezed his heart. Without thinking, he slid to the corner of the bed and reached for Dean's hands. The gesture was too much; Dean reacted immediately. He jerked to his feet, and his hands flew down to his sides, away from Cas's comforting reach. Cas, however, was quick to respond. As soon as Dean was on his feet, so too was he, standing between Dean and the doorway. The music laughed awkwardly at them. Cas made a mental note to never again pick an album based on how similar its colors were to a bee.

"You're gonna move, or I'm gonna move you," Dean threatened, using his full height in an attempt to intimidate Cas. Cas was not intimidated. He knew he was a lot of things, but short was not one of them. Dean stood only one inch taller. Besides, Dean was merely human; toe-to-toe, he simply was no match for an angel.

"I am not moving anywhere." His reply prompted Dean to grab his upper arms roughly and jerk him sideways. Cas stumbled with the surprise of it and fought against Dean to kept himself upright. His hands came up behind Dean's elbows and could only grasp the fabric of his flannel shirt. They spun, Dean gaining his open path to the bedroom door to make his escape. He let go of Cas, but before he could yank his shirt from Cas's grip, Cas shot his right hand up to wrap it around the side of Dean's left shoulder. He nudged angelic power into his hold, causing Dean to hesitate. A gentle, golden glow emanated from Cas as he stepped in closely and dropped his voice. "I remember the first time I touched you, Dean. It was right _here_," he squeezed tighter. "Just like this. You fought me then like you are now. Then, you had no idea who I was, what I was, or what I had planned for you." He pressed himself closer to Dean and lifted his chin, putting his lips a hairsbreadth from the taller man's. "Do you know what I have planned for you now?"

He heard Dean swallow, watched his eyes as his urge to either fight or fly melted away. A rawness burned in them, but he simply stood there, motionless. Knowing Dean was no stranger to hedonistic activities, Cas could almost get frustrated with how hard he was rebelling against something he so obviously wanted. He slowly, very carefully, released Dean's shirt with his left hand and raised it. His fingertips stretched out, touched, and slid gently along Dean's neck. As before, Dean closed his eyes. Cas cupped his palm against the warm skin. He felt Dean's pulse speeding under his touch. He put the slightest bit of pressure on his fingertips against the back of Dean's neck. Dean accepted the nudge and closed the tiny distance left between them. Their faces touched; their lips connected. Cas allowed his eyes to close as well and immersed himself in the sensation of touch.

It didn't start as a kiss. They stood like a Renaissance statue, pressed together, yet unmoving. The image of Michelangelo's Psyche and Cupid flashed through Cas's head: the two forever locked in an almost-embrace. So close, touching, but neither ever fully knowing the other. That was not what Cas wanted with Dean; he wanted -no, he craved- more. He opened his lips slightly, letting his bottom lip move against Dean's. He slid his right hand up from Dean's shoulder to the side of his neck to mirror the left and pressed his mouth more firmly to Dean's, coaxing a response out of him. The response came. Dean worked his lips against Cas's as well, finally -finally- giving himself over to acting without letting his thoughts get in the way.

Cas felt Dean's hands as they found his forearms. For a brief, horrible moment, Cas was afraid Dean might have been about to pull his hands away from his neck. But Dean simply held Cas's arms, almost as though he himself were afraid Cas would pull away. The kiss deepened. Dean tasted of a sip of bourbon, smoothed by a sapor that was his alone.

"It's hot, too hot for me, mama / But I can hardly wait."

Dean let his hands loosen from their grip and slide down to Cas's elbows where they let go and found Cas's sides. He pulled the angel against his body, eliminating all space between them, and encircled his arms around him.

"My eyes are burning, mama / And I can feel my body shake."

Cas looped his arms over Dean's shoulders, one hand sliding upward to curl his fingers into Dean's short hair as his other moved across Dean's back to his shoulder, tightening the embrace. If Cas had his own Heaven the way humans did, he was certain this moment of perfection would be part of it.

"Don't stop, don't stop me, mama / Ooh, make the pain, make it go away / No, I won't hurt you mama / But it's getting so hard. Ohh!"

.oOo.

Tucked into a prop of pillows in the guest bed a few doors down, Missouri sat smugly with "The Wizard of Oz" in her hands. Despite how long she had been lounging with it, the book was still only open to the first page. She didn't often eavesdrop on people; it was a gross misuse of her gift. Also, from rooms away, it was more of sensing emotions than actually hearing thoughts. To be fair to the boys, she had blocked out Dean. He was far easier to read than Castiel. She only focused on the swirl of colors the angel carried around him. The past few minutes had been one heck of a rainbow, but the blast of golden heat tinged with a sparkle of red -almost like a brilliant firework- made her pull back and block him out too. She smiled and started the book, "Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies..."

.oOo.

Dean and Cas lay atop the rumpled blanket on Dean's bed. The single pillow cradled Cas's head, and his shoulder cradled Dean's head. Cas's trench coat was a discarded wad on the floor. His tie hung loose, and the first two buttons of his shirt were gone. Dean's flannel shirt was also on the floor, his black t-shirt untucked from his jeans. Dean's fingertips played lightly at the lip between Cas's shirt and his exposed chest.

The kiss had progressed into the wandering of hands. Dean couldn't quite remember how the layers had started coming off. All he did know was that he had kept his touch above Cas's waistband, and the angel had followed his lead. With their hands, at least. Their lower bodies had been pressed very firmly against one another. They had explored each others' lips, faces, and necks with their mouths. And yes, at some point, Dean had been anxious enough to taste Cas's chest that he may have removed some buttons from his shirt in his haste. He wasn't sure if that was before or after Cas's hands had found their way inside his t-shirt and ran up his bare skin, sending fingers of electricity through him. It was all a blur that spun him toward a pinnacle of losing control, and that's what had slowed him, what made him pull back. He didn't want to lose control with Cas, not with his angel. So they had agreed to stop, to sit down. Somehow that, too, had progressed into being pressed against each other. Next thing he knew, he was laying his head on Cas's shoulder while Cas wrapped an arm around him. It was hard to admit, but it felt good. It felt... right.

There was much more to admit to himself, and he wasn't sure if the music playing was helping or not. Everything had happened so quickly that the record was still only on the second song, and the lyrics pierced him deeply.

"Truth is I love you / More than I wanted to / There's no point in trying to pretend."

Dean remembered the one time, not that long ago, Cas had actually said "I love you." He was dying, and he had said it to Sam and Mom as well, calling them all his family. But somehow, in that moment, Dean had felt as though Cas was saying it directly to him. _I love you, _he had said. _I love all of you._

"There's been no one who / Makes me feel like you do / Say we'll be together 'til the end."

How many times had they truly thought it was the end? And almost every time, Cas had been right there with him. Wasn't that love? Dean sighed deeply to himself. This had gotten complicated in a hurry. It had been much easier when he could pretend it was just friendship with maybe a little bit of lust. That was easy to ignore, yet experience taught him that lust was far harder to control once given in. And if it had, indeed, simply been lust, he wouldn't have stopped; he would have allowed himself to lose that control, allowed Cas to do, well, he could imagine things. He sighed again and burrowed tighter against Cas. He felt the edge of Cas's jaw press down against the top of his head and his arm tighten slightly around him.

Dean was getting the sense Cas was walking a tightrope when it came to him. He realized now just how careful Cas had been, trying his best to not do or say anything to make Dean uncomfortable. Even now, laying like this, Cas was taking cues from him. But wait, hadn't the first domino fallen because Cas made the first move? Dean was fairly certain that's how it happened. Maybe Cas had gotten sick of his stubborn shit, and that's why his angel had kissed him. His angel; when had he started thinking of Cas like that? He waited for the notion to bother him. Did it? No, he didn't think it did. In fact, he found himself wanting to say it, to taste the words and feel them on his tongue the way he had felt Cas's mouth. _My angel._ He couldn't do it, not yet. But the words still felt sweet in his head. Like a favorite piece of candy melting across his tastebuds.

He let himself relax more as he lay there, secure against Cas. At the pulsing opening of "Home By the Sea," Cas's free hand came up to intertwine his fingers with Dean's against his chest. If nothing else, there was one thing Dean knew for certain: if they didn't figure out this rain and the world did end in a flood, he was glad he hadn't missed this chance.

.oOo.

Chuck and Amara walked side by side along the edge of a vast lake. They looked as different as two siblings could. Amara's soft, wavy brown hair graced bare shoulders. Narrow straps held up her black dress, which was open in the front to reveal a wide expanse of cleavage. She looked poised, elegant. Scruffy-faced, blue-eyed, blond Chuck was dressed simply in a grey t-shirt and dark green hoodie with faded jeans a size too big kept in place by a plain leather belt. Amara held herself upright, shoulders back, with impeccable posture. Chuck's shoulders were hunched forward slightly, hands buried in His hoodie pockets.

Smooth pebbles shifted with a soft, scraping sound under each of their footsteps. The water's edge lapped gently next to them, churning tiny amounts of foam between the pebbles as it reached forward and drew back. Brilliant orange streaks from the sun setting into the golden hour shimmered against the water and made the siblings glow.

"It's so quiet," Amara mused, pausing her steps to listen. There was nothing to hear aside from the breeze, dancing through leaves in nearby foliage and the sigh of the water as it curled around the pebbles on the shore.

"Yeah," Chuck agreed, stopping with her. "These first few stages aren't much louder than the void. It's what comes next that starts the noise."

"What comes next?" she asked, fixing Him with round, brown eyes. "What will be tomorrow's stage?"

Chuck reveled in His sister's eagerness to create. "Beasts."

.oOo.

**Day 4**

The next morning, Sam walked into the library with two plates, each bearing an egg white veggie omelette. He set one near Missouri who was hunched over the crossword puzzle from one of the old newspapers Sam had left in the recycling bin. As they expected from yesterday, there was too much standing water for them to go out and find today's paper. He kept the other plate for himself and sat down across from the psychic.

"So you're in a good mood this morning," he observed. "I take it you had a decent night's sleep even though you weren't in your own bed?"

"Let's just say I got some good news last night, and I'll leave it at that," Missouri replied with a pleasant smile, sliding the plate closer to herself with a thankful nod.

"Okay..." Sam started eating about the same time Dean rounded the corner from the control room. His hair was disheveled from sleep, and he wore his grey robe over a black shirt that might have been the one he had been wearing the day before. Bare feet slapped the floor as he entered the library. Directly behind him was Cas, hair also in disarray. The angel was still pushing his arm through the sleeve of his trench coat as he walked. Sam blinked and furrowed his brow. Angels don't sleep; why had he taken off his--

Sam's eyes widened, his brow lifted and smoothed. He sat up straight and looked at Dean. His brother was still bleary-eyed, and he shuffled wordlessly past the table where Sam and Missouri sat, heading, Sam assumed, for the coffee pot in the kitchen. Sam managed to catch Cas's eye from the end of the table where he had stopped walking, but all he got from Cas was a gruff, "Good morning."

Finally, he turned back to Missouri. She had a twinkle in her eye and an even bigger smile on her face. That was enough to confirm Sam's suspicion. "About damn time," he blurted. Missouri let out a high, infectious laugh that swept an answering chuckle from Sam.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," she agreed.

Sam turned his amused face to Cas where he stood at the end of the room, still adjusting the collar and lapels of his coat. Cas looked back at him, his face blank at first, but slowly, a ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. "I can say I am pleased with this turn of events."

"Heh," Sam breathed out. "Me too."

"You're... okay with this arrangement?"

"Well, yeah. Cas, if it makes you and my brother happy, of course I'm okay with it. I've actually kinda been expecting this from you two for a while now."

Cas tilted his head and squinted slightly. "Sam, I feel I should disabuse you of the notion that we had intercourse."

"Uhh, o-okay. I- no- you- um-" Sam's stammering pulled another laugh from Missouri.

"Castiel, honey, I don't think Sam requires any details. If you're happy, he's happy. That's all."

Cas nodded, and Sam watched as the angel's eyes left Missouri and picked up to the doorway on the other side of the room. His expression barely changed, but Sam saw a brightness bloom in his eyes, a brightness directed at Dean. Sam couldn't help himself. He turned in his chair to look at his brother and to examine his face when he saw how Cas was looking at him. Dean's expression gave him nothing. It was the same tired, stoic face he had been wearing when he had passed through on his mission for coffee. Sam saw Dean's eyes bounce up to look at Cas over the rim of the mug he was slurping out of, and nothing showed. It was kind of a let down.

"Don't let it get to you, darlin'," Missouri said softly. "Rest assured, he feels it too."

Sam favored her with another smile. "Good."

"Now maybe we can get some work done," she murmured.

Sam snickered in response, but the wave of amusement was short-lived as the others joined them at the table -Dean next to Missouri, Cas next to Sam- and they got down to business. He hadn't known last night why everyone suddenly disappeared into their rooms, but he had chosen to use the alone time to research. Digging through every reference book they had on rainfall, on the Great Flood specifically, had given him nothing but hours of wasted time. It was when he reflected on past experiences and what they had learned through it all that he had actually come up with something.

"Seven years ago, we asked a psychic for help," he began.

"Pamela," Dean chimed in.

"Pamela," Sam repeated the name.

"But we screwed up," Dean said, concern creasing his brow. Next to him, Sam felt Cas shift in his seat, reacting to Dean's discomfort. "We asked for her help, and then we let her die."

"Our whole situation back then was screwed up, no question. We made mistakes, and people we cared about paid the price. Now we can lament over it, or you can remember that Pamela said she doesn't mind being in Heaven and hear me out."

"Fine," the word was grumbled from behind the rim of Dean's coffee mug.

"Alright. So the help we got from Pamela was to send us into the veil via astral projection, right? In the veil, we were able to see things on another plain, things we can't see when we're in our regular bodies."

"And?"

"And I think there might be something similar in Heaven."

"What?" Cas asked.

"Think about it," Sam continued. "Heaven is already filled with infinite different 'heavens,' one for each soul up there. Why couldn't there be a veil across those individual heavens that can only be seen when someone is in a different form?"

"What are you suggesting, Sam?" Cas inquired warily.

Sam took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't about to sound as crazy as he felt. "Angelic astral projection."

"Excuse me?"

"My theory is that when Chuck and the Darkness went away, they did actually go to Heaven. They just... aren't in Heaven as we know it; they're on a different plain. That's why the angels can't find them."

Cas squinted at Sam, clearly still not fully understanding what Sam was saying.

"He wants me to send your astral form to Heaven, Castiel," Missouri finally joined the conversation. Sam looked across the table at her.

"Exactly," he said.

"Wait, can you do that with an angel?" Dean's question was one Sam had grappled with through a large portion of the night until he had found what he thought might be a viable answer.

"Yes," Sam lifted a finger as his voice took on a lecturing tone. "The Latin spell Pamela used on us called upon our minds to not just allow us be deceived but to want it."

"So?"

"So I think it's possible for a similar spell to be worked in Enochian for use on an angel."

"You _think_ it's _possible_? You're talking about creating your own spell and using Cas as a damn guinea pig," Dean's voice was louder and sounded hostile.

"Well what other choice do we have?"

"One that doesn't involve shooting my- shooting Cas out of a damn canon with no way of knowing where he'll land or if he'll even survive."

"Dean, I am quite difficult to kill."

"No," Dean ignored Cas and kept his eyes squarely on Sam. "I'm not letting this happen. You come up with something else."

"Like what, Dean?" Exasperation tinged Sam's voice.

"Dean."

"I don't know. Something with more certainty than the words 'think' and 'possible.' We can't just throw a made up spell at him and hope it'll work."

"Dean."

"Fine, then you can sit up half the night and research. Be my guest. The rain is only going to keep falling while we're doing nothing."

"Dean."

"What, Cas?" Dean ripped his glare off of Sam and pinned it across the table where it softened. His anger wasn't at Cas, and whatever happened between them last night eased a tension Sam hadn't noticed until it was gone.

"It's done. We've agreed."

"Like hell we have. What are you talking about?"

"Castiel and I will work together to create the spell," came Missouri's reply.

"You..." Dean's head swiveled between the psychic and the angel and back again. "You can't read his mind. How did you...?"

"I'm working on deciphering the colors," she replied matter-of-factly. "Plus there's a lot to be said about facial expressions and body language."

"Also, we wrote a note," Cas added in, holding up a corner torn from the newspaper. Written in the pencil Missouri had been using for the crossword puzzle were lines in two distinct handwriting styles:

_This is your choice, not theirs. Are we making a spell?_

_Yes._

_How long are we going to let them argue?_

Sam looked down at the table, feeling abashed. He hadn't even asked Cas if he would be willing to do this. He had just taken it as a given that Cas would agree since it was the only option they had at the moment. He was grateful, though, that Cas was willing. Dean didn't seem like he was ready to back down, but he held his tongue for the moment. He was probably building a new point of argument that he could give against this whole thing. Dean had always been protective of both Sam and Cas. Sam knew, for his own protection, Dean was just filling his role as big brother, perhaps even as a father figure since Dean had had more of a hand in raising him than Dad ever did. For Cas, however, for the longest time, Sam just thought Dean had adopted him as a brother as well. Seeing them this morning, though, and seeing the way Cas had looked at his brother sparked dozens of memories of shared looks between the two of them. Looks Sam hadn't really paid much attention to at first, but over the years, his suspicions had grown. It was now so glaringly obvious that Sam didn't know why it took so long for him to notice. It was no wonder Dean was railing against allowing Cas to send his astral projection into Heaven's veil with no guarantee it would even work. They only just now found something in each other, and Dean didn't want to let it go. Sam didn't want to be a part of forcing him to do so.

"You don't have to," he muttered.

"What's that?"

"You don't have to," Sam repeated more firmly, directing his attention to Cas. "Look, I appreciate that you're willing to try, but..." he glanced at Dean then back at Cas. "I get it. And we'll find something else. We always do."

"Sam." He turned to Missouri as she spoke his name. She wore a small, sad smile, and he knew she had read every bit of what had just tumbled through his head. "Your heart is in the right place. But I think you need to be reminded that this truly is not your decision, darlin'. This is a choice Castiel has to make."

"Missouri is a talented psychic," Cas said to Sam. "I trust in her abilities. We will write an effective spell. I will scour Heaven's veil in search of God." He turned to the open concern etched across Dean's face. "And I will return."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a few more days than usual for the updates. My family evacuated ahead of hurricane Dorian and spent some time further inland. We're back now, and I can resume writing and editing. Thanks for your patience and support! xo

Before the brothers were both shooed away from the table, Missouri picked their brains from what they remembered of Pamela's incantation in an effort to compare it to her own knowledge and experiences. It had been not too long after they had met Cas, eight years ago, so Dean's memory only allowed him to stammer out "Animum uhh... vault desss... umm..."

Sam smoothly finished the incantation: "Vult decipi ergo decipiatur."

"Show off," Dean grumbled. Sam smirked. "Oh, it ended with 'Vis, vis, vis,'" Dean added, sending his own smug look across the table.

"Mmm hmm," Missouri hummed as she took notes and nodded her head. "And was there anything she said to pull you back, or was there a time limit for the spell to wear itself out?"

_You have got a great ass_, was what Pamela had whispered to Sam when she pretended to say the incantation in his ear. He quirked a smile at the memory while Missouri lifted an eyebrow at it. Sam cleared his throat and did his best to push it away.

"I want to say it was close to the same thing," Dean offered, oblivious to the silent interaction between Sam and Missouri.

"It was," Sam put in. "But she said 'imum' instead of "animum.'"

"That sounds about right," Missouri said softly, making more notes. "Anything else?"

"Not that I can remember," Dean said.

"Yeah, that's it," Sam agreed.

"Okay, that's all I need then." She looked up from her notes and took both brothers in with a glance. "Now, out. While we work."

.oOo.

Spell working with Missouri was a smooth, painless process, Cas decided. She asked the correct questions, accepted critiques while using them to better herself, and refused to become distracted by the brothers as they milled about in the next room and stared through the doorway, despite the fact she had told them to leave.

The final spell they settled upon was simple; the best ones were, in his experience. It had only taken them a couple hours to work through the logistics of it and agree that it was likely to be the most successful of everything they had discussed. Overall, Cas was pleased with the outcome.

It was in the next step that Cas found himself feeling a bit of trepidation. After all, he had never actually written a spell before and had never attempted astral projection. Missouri assured him she had successfully performed the latter a number of times. The few minutes she had spent grilling the brothers over their experience was to compare how she preferred to work versus how Pamela had worked- and he found an immense amount of trust in her. It was that trust which allowed him to follow through with this plan with only a little worry.

Cas had been prepared to begin the procedure right there at the library table, but Dean and Sam had stopped them. "At least lay down," Dean had insisted, Sam nodding in agreement. "Your vessel is going to slump over, all dead weight like you're, well, dead." So Cas had acquiesced, and Dean had offered his own bed.

Missouri placed herself on the bed next to him while Dean pulled the chair close to the other side and sat. Sam stood, dominating the doorway, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed. There was a row of lit candles across the shelf above the bed. Another sat on the table next to the bed. The room was very dim, but there was enough light to make out the expressions on the two faces closest to him. Missouri's features held a confidence that Cas appreciated. Dean, however, looked troubled.

Cas wished he knew what to say to ease Dean's fears. Nothing came to him, and all he could do was hold Dean's gaze in a silent plea for internal peace until Missouri prompted him to close his eyes and relax.

"Now we're going to do this just as we talked about," the soft voice was soothing. "Breathe slowly and open yourself to my words." Cas did as he was bid, and Missouri began the incantation. "Manin gahalana piripson," she intoned in the choppy language. "Torzul, torzul, torzul."

Cas waited to feel... something. Maybe a lifting or lightness to suggest his spirit had detached from his vessel? He was uncertain what he should have been feeling. After a moment, he opened his eyes to find Dean was still looking down at him. He glanced at Missouri then over at the shadow of Sam's silhouette in the doorway. "I am sorry, Sam," he said. "I appears the spell we concocted was unsuccessful." Sam didn't reply. Instead, it was Missouri who spoke, and she was looking at Dean.

"Well, I suppose now all we can do is wait." She stood and walked to the doorway. "I'll be in my room if you need me," she said to Sam as he moved to let her pass, then she was gone.

Cas sat up and let his legs swing down off of the bed to put himself where Missouri had been sitting. He squinted at Sam's back as Sam turned and left his position in the doorway without speaking. Cas then stood and turned to face Dean. He was startled to see his vessel still abed. Dean was in his chair, looking down at the motionless form. He watched as Dean slipped his hand over the limp hand of his vessel and grip it tightly.

"You come back to me, you son of a bitch, you understand?" Dean's voice sounded thick.

"I understand, Dean." Cas understood more than the spoken words. He stretched out his wings and aimed for Heaven.

.oOo.

The glow of the corridor seemed muted when Cas grounded himself. Heaven's ways were typically a pristine white, but now it was... subdued, almost like looking at everything through a dirty window. Was something wrong in Heaven? Or was this an effect of being in the veil? Voices behind him caught his attention. He turned to see two angels walking toward him, deep in conversation. One of them, Penemue, he recognized. The other was a face he had seen before but could not put a name to.

"Brothers," he greeted, but neither angel looked at him. They strode on, discussing the early use of pen and ink by humans. Cas tilted his head in consideration and held his position as they neared him. With each step they took, each moment they ignored him, Cas's resolve in his forming theory strengthened. Then, a silent breath seemed to fill the hall as the two angels walked straight through him. The mingling of their forms sent a jolt of heat through Cas that quickly turned to an icy cold flash as the others walked on, unaware. Just as suddenly as the sensations blasted through Cas, they were gone. And the other angels continued their conversation as though nothing had happened. Indeed, as far as they were concerned, nothing had actually happened. They could not see him, could not hear him, nor could they touch him. Cas truly was in Heaven's veil.

He watched the backs of the retreating angels as he worked through what he planned to do, now that he was here. It was not a topic he had been able to discuss with Missouri. She knew nothing of Heaven and did not have the capability to help him on this end. Help would have been welcome, though. Heaven was vast, and Cas was somewhat uncertain on where to begin his search for God. For the moment, he decided that just moving his feet would be a good start. He made his way along the hall, peeking into conference rooms -some empty, some in use- and offices of various angels who spent their time in Heaven rather than taking a vessel on Earth. No one he passed paid him any mind, and all seemed to be in order. The only difference he saw was the overall gloomy ambiance of the veil, and his eyes seemed to be adjusting to that.

What next? he wondered. He would have to start searching personal Heavens. The smartest thing would be to visit the Heavens of people Chuck had known while He was on Earth. As a writer, He had been a recluse, but that did not stop Him from interacting with at least a few people. And some of them were actually dead and in Heaven at this point. Perhaps God was covertly visiting with some of them, hiding in the veil while watching over a few of His favorites. It was worth exploring. With a strong pulse of his wings, Cas was off to his first destination.

.oOo.

Dean and Missouri worked in the kitchen, tidying up after a sparse lunch. Dean hadn't felt hungry, but Missouri brooked no nonsense and demanded he fuel his body. Sam had volunteered to watch over Cas so Dean could take care of himself. "We left Pamela alone," Dean had said when he first refused to leave his chair. "I'm not leaving Cas alone." Somehow, between the two of them, Sam and Missouri had gotten Dean out of his chair, into the kitchen, and even made him eat a little. Though with the distraction laying back in his room, he couldn't even remember what it was he had eaten.

"It's a little frustrating, ain't it?"

"Huh?" Dean looked around to Missouri from where he was putting their clean plates back on a shelf.

"The not knowing," Missouri said. "Walking around in the real world while we don't know what's going on over in the veil."

"I was hoping you would be able to, you know, read him or something. Give us a play-by-play," he replied.

"Would that I could, honey, but even if Castiel weren't so difficult to read, what with those colors, his mind is off with his spirit. That body in there is essentially empty."

Dean felt himself go cold in response to her comment, and she immediately stepped forward to press a hand to his arm. "Dean, I want to apologize to you," she said. "Had I known what Sam was going to cook up in that brain of his, I'm not sure I would have pushed you and Castiel to have your little... talk. At least, not yet."

"Oh. Yeah." Dean didn't know how else to respond.

"Your previous experience with astral projection ended badly, and it's obviously part of what's affecting you so much right now," Missouri continued gently. "But I want to remind you that it wasn't the actual procedure that harmed your friend. The trauma of her death put astral projection on your list of things to avoid, but you have to remember that it was a demon who killed her. Demons ain't getting in here, honey. Not in here, and certainly not in Heaven." She searched his face. "Castiel is safe. He's going to be fine."

"Yeah, okay." Dean tried to sound like he agreed with her, but he still wasn't about to let Cas lay in there by himself for one minute of this thing. Mostly, he didn't want to talk about it, but... "Missouri?"

"Yes, honey?"

"I'm still not really sure why I reached out to you, but I think there might have been something that... I don't know... needed you to tell me the truth, and..." Dean hesitated, trying to figure out what he was trying to say and failing. "Thank you," he finished lamely.

Missouri smiled. "You just make sure you take this vigil in shifts," she warned. "Sam wants to help, and you need to let him... And I'm here too." With another gentle squeeze on his arm, she left him alone in the kitchen with only his jumbled thoughts to keep him company.

.oOo.

Cas was beginning to fear this venture may be fruitless. He had been through countless memories in several different peoples' Heavens. Many of the glimpses he had taken into the experiences of these people touched his heart. Some few of the memories even included Chuck, which lead him to false hope more than once, but none of it helped him find the real God; those had only been images. He had to figure out a new strategy. Time passed differently in Heaven than on Earth, and he had no idea how much longer he had before Missouri recited their agreed-upon incantation to pull his spirit back to the vessel he had left behind.

He needed to find somewhere that was centralized. Jumping from one person to another with no sense of order hadn't been successful. So where...? The realization struck him with such suddenness, he had to shake his head with the simplicity of it. Of course. The Garden. Cas flicked into the Garden of Eden and took a long, slow, deep breath as he looked around. Lush foliage surrounded him and all but glowed in hundreds of different shades of greens. Heads of new growth in yellows and reds and purples were sprinkled in too, offering breaks in the green that dominated the majority of his surroundings. Cas chose a direction at random and began walking, allowing his hands to trail through the leaves of the plants he passed, feeling the life flowing through them. Some of the trees bore fruit; bushes were hazed with tiny flowers. All of it was neat and pristine, a controlled wildness. Joshua, the Gardener, took great pride in his work in the Garden, and it showed with every perfect leaf.

At his thought of Joshua, Cas caught a glimpse of the back of a grey jacket. He followed the sight and found Joshua kneeling at the base of a drooping plant with withering leaves. "I just don't understand it," Joshua was muttering to himself. It had the feeling of a statement much repeated. He cupped a leaf the same size as his dark hand and lifted it to examine it more closely, and the stem released its hold from the limb with a tiny pip of sound. Joshua paused then sighed heavily, carefully setting the leaf on the rich soil beside him in an effort to not hurt it further. However, the damage had been done the moment it left the plant. Several more withered leaves were scattered about his knees.

"Joshua," Cas said. "What's happening here?" Joshua didn't hear him, of course, so he did not answer. Cas pulled his eyes from the Gardener and looked past him. The further Cas looked, the sadder the plants seemed to be. Whither turned to rot, and the shades of green got darker and darker until his eyes found blackness far beyond where Joshua knelt. Cas walked around Joshua and knelt too, to see his face. There were tears shimmering in deep brown eyes that did not see his brother who existed in the veil of the astral plane. Cas smoothly stood and turned to face the death that was spreading through the Garden. Something pulled at him to seek out the source. An attempt at a reassuring touch sent Cas's fingertips through Joshua's shoulder rather than the meant-for grip. He balled his fist and swallowed any words Joshua wouldn't have heard, then he left the Gardener in his grief to strike out through the dying and decaying foliage to find the pit of rot.

As he walked, Cas kept his hands down and out of the nasty, wet leaves that hung heavily about him. Bits of decay broke off the plants and fell in plops as he passed, and each step he took released strong odors that nearly overwhelmed his senses. The trees around him should have carried a canopy of rich leaves overhead, but by now, most of them were gone. Stark, skeletal branches intertwined over his head, the ends like fingers, reaching for each other, reaching for help. Cas wished he knew how to give it.

Ever forward, Cas approached what, at first glance, appeared to be yet another large tree. As he neared, he saw it was a group of smaller trees that had grown closely together to form what he initially mistook to be a single trunk. What caused him to look over his shoulder at it as he passed, he couldn't say, but tucked into the only opening in the many trunks was a shadow that was too light for the density of the growth. Cas halted his trek and tilted his head as he leaned closer with squinted eyes to get a better look. The grey shadow in the niche pulsed and moved, like a thing alive. Surrounded in all of this death, it seemed out of place. Cas reached forward with an open palm to get a sense of it. The shape... it had a bodily essence to it, like a figure curled fetally upon itself. Cas's hand inched closer to touch it's head--

A blaze of bluish-white light engulfed him, and he was... somewhere else, somewhere he couldn't identify. Cas blinked several times and looked around. Everywhere about him spoke of life. Gone was the rot and decay that had permeated the plants around him. Here, the foliage was bright and new. He was no longer in the Garden. The air was clean and tasted as though it had never known the pollution of the industrial age. That meant he wasn't on Earth either. By the overall feel of his surroundings, Cas also knew he wasn't in Heaven. So... where?

Voices caught his attention. They were faint, and if not for the general stillness of the world around him, he wouldn't have heard it. He followed the sound, and as he neared, the words took shape.

"Try again. You almost have it," a male voice encouraged

"Okay, here goes," replied a female voice. A moment later, both of them laughed uproariously.

"But what IS it?" she asked through her giggles. Cas was almost close enough to see the owners of the voices.

"Whatever you want to name it," the man answered as Cas cleared the last bit of underbrush. "I made one a lot like it that I called a platypus."

Cas's eyes popped at the pair sitting in a clearing of lush grass with the strangest creature Cas had ever seen waddling awkwardly away from them. God had been generous with His comment. This thing was not "a lot like" a platypus unless He meant it was made up of spare parts. As Cas stood by and gaped, he must have made a sound because two pairs of eyes -one blue, one brown- swept across the grass to land on him. Amara stood and placed her hand on God's shoulder. She leaned down and said something softly to Him that Cas could not hear. She left Him sitting there, cross-legged and smiling, and approached Cas.

"Hello, Castiel," her smile was pleasant, but her eyes carried poison. Cas was instantly wary. "However did you manage to find us?"

"What is this place?" Cas had no reason to answer her question.

"This?" Amara let her arms stretch out, and she twirled slowly, taking in everything around herself. She finished her spin and faced Cas again. "This is my creation."

"Your..." Cas let himself look around. "You did this?"

"Under the direction of my brother." Why did that statement sound so menacing? Cas squinted as he examined her.

"I would like to speak with Him." Cas took a step to move around Amara. She sidestepped with a swish of her black dress and kept herself in his path, stopping his advancement.

"Why? Don't you believe me?" she challenged.

"Should I have reason to disbelieve you?" Cas countered. They stared at each other, the tension between them palpable. Cas did not like the situation that was unfolding. There was something off, something wrong. He tried again to walk around Amara, and she put herself in his way once more. Cas kept walking, forcing her to either physically stop him or step aside. She chose the former, giving him an actual shove with her hands to his chest. She was stronger than she looked.

"You stay away from Him," she demanded in a cold hiss, pitching her voice low to keep God from hearing her. "He's happy here, happier than He's ever been with that mess He created. You angels, the humans, all of it. From the moment He thought to divide Light from Darkness, everything was ruined. This is my chance to make things the way they were meant to be."

Cas's brow knit down. "I don't understand. Light and Darkness are separated here too..." He looked around again. "What is this place? Where is it?"

"Nowhere." Amara adopted a smug expression and lightly tapped her temple with a forefinger. "It's all in His head, Castiel. While He's playing Creator with me in here, teaching me everything I need to know so I can do it out there, I'm using His old tricks to get rid of His mess, and He's none the wiser."

The flood. Missouri had been right; it wasn't God. But no one had considered it was Amara. Not only was she killing Earth, but Cas had a suspicion the festering in the Garden was only going to spread. "You can't."

"Oh, but I can," she insisted with a nasty smirk. "I am. You showing up here wasn't part of the plan, obviously, but you're... easily indisposed."

As Cas tried to push past Amara yet again, he saw that God had risen from his spot in the grass and was approaching them. He had an easy smile on His face, oddly unaware of the struggle between His sister and son.

"Check it out, Castiel," He called out as He neared. A broad gesture took in their surroundings, but Cas ignored the beauty of it. "Isn't she doing a great job?"

"Father," Cas warned. "This isn't real."

"Shut up," Amara growled. God tilted his head and adopted a confused look.

"You're trapped in your own mind. You have to wake up!"

"I said SHUT UP!!" Amara flung a hand at Cas. Surprise flashed across her face as nothing happened. "Wh-- but this is my creation," she said. "My rules apply here." She threw her hand out at Cas again to the same lack of result. Cas backhanded her arm out of his way and skirted around her to get to God.

"This is His head; His rules apply," Cas replied, locking his eyes on God. "And you do not wish me harmed, do you, Father?"

Cas was suddenly airborne as Amara grabbed his arms from behind and threw him sideways. "I don't care what He wants!" she cried. Cas hit the soft ground and rolled, momentarily stunned. He pushed himself to his hands and knees on less than steady limbs and looked up at Amara while she ranted at him. "We tried it His way; He did what He wanted! And look where it got us! Earth is dying, Castiel. I'm just washing away the debris."

"You're what?" God's quiet voice asked from behind her. Amara whirled to face him, giving Cas her back. Cas used the distraction to heft himself to his feet. He could see God's face over Amara's shoulder. The devastation of betrayal painted his expression. "What have you done?"

"She's sabotaging your creation," Cas said before Amara could speak, earning a scathing look over her shoulder. "While you sleep, Heaven and Earth are being destroyed. All of this, everything you see around you is a trick she's playing in your mind."

_Manin gahalana caosga_. The incantation whispered through Cas's head. No, not yet. _Niis, niis, niis_.

"You have to fight it," Cas urged as Amara whirled on him, murder flashing in her eyes. Cas took his own advice and fought the spell that was dragging his spirit back to his vessel. He hadn't finished his job; he couldn't leave yet.

_Niis_.

"This isn't real!" Cas shouted to God as Amara advanced upon him, each step faster than the last. He was certain she intended to rip him apart bodily. Would she be able to kill him here? He had no idea what that would mean for his vessel if his spirit was destroyed. He grounded his feet, forced himself to focus.

_Niis_.

"Wake up!!" Cas shouted. Somewhere in Cas's mind, Dean's voice echoed the words. God seemed stunned to the point of inaction and more than a little panicked. Everything was happening at once. Cas knew He wanted to believe there was goodness in His sister, in this creation they had worked together to build. Amara lunged with a wordless scream, fingernails extended.

_Niis_.

.oOo.

**Day 5**

Air filled Castiel's lungs in a deep breath when his eyes finally opened 24 hours after they had closed. Missouri felt the same relief within herself that she also felt flooding from both of the brothers. Sam was shifting from foot to foot by the side of the bed where she sat next to Castiel, and Dean was across from her, seated once more in the one chair the room boasted. His hands were gripping the front edge of the seat with enough force to turn his knuckles white and one knee bounced anxiously. When Castiel opened his eyes, they both stopped their fidgeting. Cas's gaze met Sam's first, where his standing, six-foot-four-inch form towered over all of them.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said quietly. "You doing okay?"

Castiel didn't answer; he moved his eyes from Sam to Dean who merely swallowed and stayed silent. Then he turned his attention to Missouri. A crackling blue dominated his mind as he sat up; it was a color she hadn't encountered with him yet, and she struggled to read it. "I found Him." Missouri opened her mouth to answer, but Sam spoke first.

"You did? Where? Did you talk to Him?" Castiel glanced up at Sam again but looked at Missouri to answer.

"Amara has Him trapped in His own mind within Heaven's Garden. I must go back." The blue of his mind spit and fizzed. Missouri continued to examine it.

"Castiel, honey, I can't send you back right away. You know that. Your vessel needs time to recuperate. As it is, the incantation barely brought you back this time."

"That's... well... I fought it."

"You what?" Dean joined the conversation with an edge to his voice. A dizzying mixture of anger, fear, and relief swirled through him, but only the anger came through in his question. Castiel turned to look at him.

"I fought the spell. My Father did not know He was a prisoner. I had to stay, to tell Him." Suddenly, Missouri understood the snapping of Castiel's blue; it was anxiety, and Dean wasn't helping ease it.

"You needed to come home," Dean stated. "Missouri worked that spell three damn times to bring you back, Cas. We thought you were gone."

"I... I'm sorry, Dean."

"He's back now," Missouri put in, interrupting the growing disquiet between them. "And he's safe with us." Dean turned his angry gaze to her, but she brushed it away, knowing it wasn't personal.

"But what happened with Chuck?" Sam asked. "You said you stayed so you could tell Him what was happening?"

"There was little time. Amara told me what she was doing to Him. I suppose she assumed she would be killing me after."

"How very Dr. No of her," Dean grumbled. Cas tossed a confused look his way then continued speaking to Sam.

"I told Him that He is asleep, but Amara attacked me before I could give Him as much detail as she gave me. Then I was pulled back into my vessel. I don't know if He was able to break her hold on His mind and wake up."

"Yeah, I'm good."

Four bodies jumped and all sets of eyes swung to the sudden appearance of the shaggy-haired, scruffy blond in the small open floor space left in the room while surprise emanated from the men. Missouri could admit to her own shock as well. She felt nothing from Him. No thoughts, no emotions, no colors. He was completely blocked off from her. Castiel scrambled to his feet in a show of respect, jostling Missouri as he did so. She used the bump to stand from the edge of the bed slowly, eyes wide and completely dumbfounded. All this talk of finding God had been so abstract. Now that it had actually happened, she had no idea of the protocol. Should she avert her eyes? Grovel? This guy was so ordinary; the idea of dropping to her knees before Him seemed absurd.

"Chuck," Sam broke the stillness in the room. "Are you alright?"

God shrugged, his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. "I'm fine. Thanks to Castiel."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Oh, well not to go into too much detail, but when I found out that my sister was using my old move and flooding the place, I decided to use her move against her. I gotta hand it to her; it's a pretty ingenious idea." God grinned at all of them. "She's now trapped in her own head, making all sorts of crazy creatures with a fake me. As far as she knows, she's making something real. But I have her in a loop; she'll make beasts forever, thinking it's new each time, but I'll never show her the next step: how to make Man."

"Is she still in the Garden?" Castiel asked.

"Oh..." God looked slightly abashed as he slid the toe of his worn sneaker back and forth on the floor. "I had to put her in Heaven's cells. I didn't want to; I told you that before. I didn't want to lock her away again. But... well, I guess I just can't trust her." He perked up. "But I got the Garden cleaned up for Joshua. He sure was happy to see all that disease go away."

Castiel was the only one to nod at that. None of the others knew what He was talking about.

"What about the rain?" Dean asked.

God grinned at the older Winchester. "It's done. I thought about making it all disappear, wipe everyone's memories, make it so it never happened, all that. But this whole thing started some timelines in certain peoples' lives... things that I don't want to take away from them." He eyed Dean knowingly, which caused a well of emotions in the hunter that Missouri would actually need to work at unraveling, if she were to make the effort. However, God pulled her away from it as He continued speaking, "It'll take some time for the water to recede, but the rain has ended. So!" He clapped His hands loudly and rubbed them together. "Who wants some pancakes? I'm starving."

Missouri tentatively stepped from around Castiel and Sam, and that was enough to bring God's attention to her. "Ah, Missouri!" He drew her from around the two taller men and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her in a half hug. He looked up at Sam to say, "I really broke the mold with this one. She's something special." Then he was walking out the door, guiding Missouri with his arm still around her.

"Th-thank you, God," Missouri managed to stammer out.

"Oh, you can call me Chuck. Do you like pancakes?"

Missouri's mind whirled as she was lead to the kitchen by a very loquacious deity on a quest for breakfast.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter is a bit short compared to the others, but I had to wrap it all up in a neat, little bow. Thank you for coming along with me and the boys on this journey. I appreciate all the comments and kudos. They are so uplifting. *hearts and smiles and stuff*

"So, uh, I guess that's that," Sam said as he watched Chuck guide Missouri from the room.

"Yeah, I guess so," Dean agreed. He was still sitting rigidly in the chair next to the now empty bed.

Sam took a few steps to the doorway. "You coming?" he asked over his shoulder. Cas moved to follow him.

Dean got to his feet, but he made no move to leave the room. "You go on," he said. "I need to talk to Cas for a minute." Cas hesitated at the sound of his name and turned to look at Dean. Meanwhile, Dean could have knocked the smirk right off of Sam's face.

"Okay." Sam disappeared into the hallway.

At Dean's gesture, Cas pushed the door closed behind Sam then turned to look at him, curiosity plain on his face.

As soon as the door was closed, Dean crossed the room in long strides, grabbed the lapels of Cas's trench coat, and forced him backwards against it. Cas's arms went down, his hands splayed out, and he took the brunt of the slam with his forearms, keeping his head from hitting the door. Dean searched Cas's piercing blue eyes, trying to remember what he wanted to say, but in that moment, words deserted him. Instead, all he could do was crush his lips down into a rough kiss. If he admitted it to no one else, he could admit to himself that he had wanted to do this from the second Cas's eyes opened. When he felt Cas try to deepen the kiss, try to open his mouth, Dean resisted. He remembered there was something he needed to say. He wrenched himself away, his breathing uneven.

With the coat still clenched in his fists, Dean gave Cas a little shake. "I can't go through that again," he grated out, finally finding his words. He let go of the coat and stepped away from Cas, as though increasing the space between them could help his brain function better. Maybe it could. He looked down at the floor and smoothed a hand down his face in an effort to settle his thoughts and make sense of them. "I can't," he repeated. "With you not responding to the spell -a spell you insisted would work!- laying there, not moving, barely breathing. I couldn't even feel your heart beating." He started pacing the small room as his words picked up steam. The more he said, the more agitated he became. "So many times, Cas. So many times I've had to let you go, had to watch you die or destroy yourself or, or watch someone else take you from me..." His feet scuffed to a stop and took a shuddering breath, trying to rein in the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, still staring at the floor.

"Dean," Cas pushed himself away from the door and took a step forward, but Dean threw a flat hand up between them to stop his approach. Cas obeyed the silent gesture and stayed put, but he continued speaking. "Dean, you know the importance of what I was doing. I had to do this."

"I know that. But, dammit Cas, you fought the damn spell. Three times, man!" He knew he was repeating himself, but he couldn't shake it. "Three times Missouri chanted at you, and you just laid there. You almost didn't come back." Dean felt tears prick at his eyes, and his next words were almost a whisper as he lifted his eyes to meet the blue gaze that haunted him damn near constantly. "I needed you to come back."

"At what cost?" Cas asked in an equally soft voice.

"When it comes to you, Cas, I..." Dean searched his eyes as he worked through what it was he wanted to say. "I would give up a hell of a lot."

"One angel isn't worth the entire world."

"What if that one angel _is_ the entire world?"

When Cas didn't answer, Dean plopped heavily on the foot of the bed. "Just..." he took a deep breath and let himself begin to rebuild the wall, to let his usual dry humor take the place of raw emotion. "No more laying in my bed, looking dead, okay?" He offered a crooked, watery smile.

Cas tilted his head in consideration, seeming to gather his thoughts as well. After a moment, he advanced upon where Dean sat and leaned down, placing his hands very deliberately on Dean's upper thighs. The move felt calculated, as though Cas was pointedly using a distraction to keep Dean from worrying. It was working. Cas pressed their cheeks together, letting his lips brush Dean's ear as he spoke, "I assure you, Dean, the next time I am in this bed..." he let his thumbs brush upward, digging into Dean's legs but stopping short of anything too nefarious. "...I will be very much alive."

A small sound escaped Dean's throat as Cas slowly edged back, letting the scruff both of them wore on their faces rasp lightly together. Cas let his lips graze Dean's before backing away enough to look into his eyes again. As he withdrew, his hands also slid down closer to Dean's knees.

Dean reached up and ensnared the collar of Cas's shirt and the knot of his tie in one fist in an effort to keep the angel from backing away any further. "Prove it," he growled. Cas's smile and the gleam in his eyes were exactly what he needed in that moment. No more fighting it, no more pretending. This was what he needed.

Cas leaned in again, catching Dean's lips against his. Dean let go of his collar and used both hands to edge himself up the bed. Cas followed, bracing on hands and knees. The shimmy was awkward, and their kiss turned to kisses as their faces couldn't stay pressed together. Finally, Dean was laying fully back upon the bed, and Cas was above him, one knee between his legs, the other straddling his hip. Cas's hands pressed into the mattress on either side of Dean's shoulders to hold himself up, but he let his hip press tightly against Dean's crotch which was rapidly responding to the situation. Dean let himself be swallowed by the kiss. It was full of lips, tongue, and even teeth as Cas bit down on his bottom lip and hummed with appreciation as he let the tender flesh drag back. God, his angel tasted good. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he tried to figure out what Cas tasted like. It was like that first sip of cool water after a hunt, like a breath of fresh air after being underground too long, like life itself, filling him up. He tasted like Cas, and that was everything to him. Dean knew he would never get enough.

Dean found the shoulders of Cas's coat and tore at it, pushing him upright to his knees as he worked the coat down his arms. His suit jacket stuck inside the arms of the coat. Both articles were wadded together and thrown aside. Dean reached next for Cas's tie, but Cas put his hands on Dean's to stop him. He held Dean's wrists and pulled him upright to kiss him soundly before taking his turn in removing the shoulders of Dean's flannel shirt. Dean helped by shrugging the garment down and eagerly pulling it off of himself, tossing it to the floor. With a raised eyebrow, Cas gave the front of Dean's black t-shirt a gentle tug with thumb and forefinger, and Dean followed the unspoken direction to remove and discard it.

Cas shifted his seat, moving so both legs were fitted between Dean's, forcing Dean's knees further apart to accommodate him. He settled his butt onto the backs of his heels and ran his hands along Dean's bared skin. Dean watched Cas's eyes as they followed the trail he made with his finger tips, starting at Dean's elbows, up to his shoulders, and running down his pecs. Dean's nipples hardened, and he shivered under the light touch. Cas pressed his palms against his chest, urging him to lay back down. He allowed the push and settled back onto the pillow. He tried his luck at the same unspoken request Cas did and gave the white button down shirt a little tug with a grin. His reward was another quirk of his angel's eyebrow and a small answering smile before Cas first loosened his tie then to worked his fingers down the row of tiny buttons. Cas left the tie in place and slipped the shirt off. Dean let out a soft chuckle as he grabbed the tie and looped it around his hand to pull Cas back down against him. Cas braced against the bed again and let Dean pull him into another kiss.

It started slowly, matching the gentle mood they had set. Cas waited while Dean worked blindly at the tie to slip the skinny end from the knot and slide the strip of fabric from his neck then broke the kiss and let his lips wander down across the scruff on Dean's jaw and down his neck. Each kiss, each lick, each nip of his teeth took him further down Dean's body. Dean lay writhing under the touches of Cas's mouth and hands as his angel trailed fire along his skin. Every time he tried to touch Cas, Cas would very pointedly stop, take him hand, and set it on the bed beside him. It was maddening, and he had to gather handfuls of sheet to stop himself from taking a handful of hair instead.

When Cas reached the waistband of Dean's jeans, he lifted his head, still letting his fingertips slide back and forth from the centered trail of fur to hip bones and back again. Dean felt himself lifting his hips involuntarily, straining to press himself against the angel between his legs. Cas smiled -almost to himself, it seemed- and let it melt away as he favored Dean with yet another lift of his eyebrow as he used both hands to press Dean's hips back into the mattress. God, that expression was going to be his undoing. Dean could just imagine Cas directing it at him in public. He bit his lip as Cas let his fingers grace the button on his jeans and fixed Dean's face with a serious expression.

"You... do want this...?" Cas spoke the first words between them since they climbed into the bed. He left the statement open-ended, waiting for a response.

"What? Yes. Dammit, yes. Yes. Why do you think you even need to ask?" An urgency pulled at Dean as he balled his fists tighter into the sheets. He never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Cas in this moment, and the angel was stopping.

"I have read that communication is important, and-"

"Stop talking." Dean's demand closed Cas's mouth, and he took it upon himself to unbutton his own jeans. As he slipped the button from its hole, Cas took his hands again.

"Allow me." He moved Dean's hands aside, prompting a low growl from him.

"You better not stop again," he meant it to be a warning, but there was that look, that quirked brow again, and the commanding tone in his voice faltered. Cas kept his eyes on Dean's as he slowly -excruciatingly slowly, the son of a bitch- lowered the zipper tab and eased the strain Dean had been feeling pressed against the ever-tightening fabric. Cas slipped his fingertips into the elastic waistband of Dean's boxers and grabbed those along with the waist of the jeans to carefully lift them clear of Dean's cock before working them down his hips and legs while Dean lifted and shifted to help as he could. Cas had to stand up at the foot of the bed to move himself from between Dean's legs in order to remove his footwear and finish pulling off the last bit of clothing. Dean waited for Cas to come back to him, but Cas contented himself with standing for a moment and letting his eyes wander Dean's naked form. For no one else would Dean ever allow this type of vulnerability, but this was Cas, his angel. If he wanted to examine his toy, Dean would let him. _His toy? _He brushed the thought away. Now wasn't the time for thinking too hard.

He was pretty sure Cas stared extra long at his cock, extending from carefully trimmed hair and laying full and hard up his lower abs, a slight curve pointing his head just a little left of center. Thoughts of what he wanted to do with the angel staring at him made it twitch in anticipation, and that small movement seemed to bring Cas back to himself. He lifted a knee to climb back onto the bed, but Dean stopped him. "You're over dressed," he said, letting his eyes drop to the dark trousers still cinched around Cas's waist.

"I suppose I am," Cas agreed. He wasn't as slow to undress himself as he had been with Dean. Nor did he stand back and allow Dean to drink in his nudity the way he had done. As soon as his shoes were toed off and the pants and undergarments were on the floor, Cas was climbing between Dean's legs again. "I have a confession, Dean," Cas said once his face was hovering above him.

Dean readied himself for some obvious statement, such as Cas telling him he had never had sex with another man before, then nodded to let Cas proceed.

"I have been... trying to gauge your reactions. To make sure everything I do is exactly what you want," Cas began, the previous confidence ebbing away. "But I need to tell you... this has been moving entirely too slowly for my liking. Would it be okay if-"

Dean grabbed the hair on the back of Cas's head to pull him down into a kiss, effectively stopping the question by answering it with actions. His other arm reached around Cas's waist and happily accepted the weight of the angel on top of him as Cas allowed himself to be pulled down. Damn, it felt good to have Cas against him, to finally feel skin on skin, to have Cas's cock pressed into the hollow of his hip, grinding against him. He marveled in the sensations as they devoured each others' mouths.

Cas lifted his body off of him, and Dean made a small sound of protest that turned into a deep moan as Cas's hand moved between them and wrapped around his cock. Dean thrust his hips into the enclosed fist, and he could feel the upturn of Cas's lips, smiling into the kiss, right before his eyes fluttered shut and his head arched back.

Cas nuzzled against his ear, his lips like butterflies against his skin, "I have wanted this, Dean. I have fantasized about this moment." His hand continued to work Dean's cock as the words flowed through him, both working him over and turning him into a panting mess. "You here, under me, taking this pleasure I'm bestowing upon you."

Dean groaned in response and let his hands dance across Cas's body, pulling him closer, but not so close Cas couldn't stroke him. As Cas whispered to him, his grip loosened and slid down to palm Dean's sack. He felt it tighten under the touch, and he thrust again, seeking the warmth that had left his cock. "Feeling you arch against me," Cas practically purred. "Knowing what my touch can do to you. Wanting to give you everything."

With the last sentence, Cas drew his fingertips up Dean's shaft and gripped it again -_everything_\- and twisted his wrist, pulling another dirty moan from Dean's throat which was swallowed into a deep kiss. Just when Dean thought he couldn't catch his breath, Cas broke the kiss and changed his position. The movement took his hand off of Dean's cock; he felt Cas press his hand against his chest briefly as he adjusted himself. When Cas's hand moved off of his chest, he expected to feel it wrap around him again. What he did not expect was a saliva-slicked fingertip gracing his hole. His eyes popped open, but Cas's voice in his ear made him bend his knees further than they had been and open himself to Cas's exploration. "You need this too, don't you? You need to feel me as much as I need to feel you. We've waited so long for this." He nipped Dean's earlobe. "Too long." Dean sucked in a hiss of air as Cas pressed his fingertip harder against his entrance and swirled it before easing off. Moments ago, he had been ready to hear Cas confess he had never been with another man, but that was because Dean hadn't either. His body wasn't accustomed to being used like this. It went beyond exciting to him. It wasn't just another man; it was his angel. His whole body sizzled with electricity, and he felt jolts race up his spine each time Cas pressed his finger against the puckered hole before letting off again.

Cas was methodical, careful in reading Dean's reactions as he slowly began to work his finger inside of Dean's ass. Just the one finger was so tight. Dean knew he wouldn't be able to let Cas fuck him, despite how badly he wanted it. And he did. God, he wanted it. He felt his hips beginning to buck as he moved along with the motions of Cas's hand, sliding up and down, in and out. Cas removed his finger, and Dean felt an instant loss. He wanted it back. He opened his mouth to say so, and the press of two fingers caught his breath in his throat. It was going to hurt; he knew it was, but he couldn't make himself form the words to stop Cas when he wanted it so desperately. The stretch made him squeeze his eyes shut and open his legs further, and he only just had time to register in his brain that there was some small bit of tearing when instantly, the pain was gone, and all that was left was the pleasure. He opened his eyes in wonder and looked at Cas's knowing smile.

"You healed me," Dean whispered breathlessly as Cas continued to work his fingers within him. Cas leaned in for another kiss.

"I won't hurt you, not in this," Cas murmured against his mouth. He gave Dean another quick peck and lifted up again. Still sliding his fingers in and out of Dean, he kissed his way down Dean's body and lowered his head. Dean felt the warmth of added saliva touch his hole to lubricate Cas's fingers as they stretched him open. He looked down in time to see Cas look up. The moment their eyes locked, Cas let his tongue dip out, flattened it, and he gave Dean's shaft a long, full lick, starting at his base and moving all the way up to his swollen head.

Dean groaned out a word that might have been Cas's name and let his head fall back. The angel used his free hand to lift Dean's cock and stroke it while he swirled his tongue around the head and engulfed it with his warm mouth. "Oh, son of a bitch," Dean grated out. This time when he reached for Cas, Cas's hands were too busy to stop him. He entangled his fingers in the dark locks and thrust his hips up to push more of himself deeper into Cas's mouth. A fine tremble began within him as Cas synced his movements, pumping his two fingers into Dean's ass while bobbing his head and deftly twisting his wrist with each stroke. Dean never wanted to go to Heaven; it would never compare to this.

Cas became aware of the mumbling coming from Dean before Dean himself could comprehend what he was saying. Cas gave him one more broad lick before looking up at him, making Dean let go of his hair and bury his grip in the sheets again. Both of his hands continued their work. "Say it, Dean. Say it out loud."

"Fuck me, Cas. Goddammit, fuck me." Dean looked down his body at his angel with wild eyes, unable to control the buck of his hips. "I need you."

Cas gently withdrew his fingers, leaving Dean shivering and aching for what he knew was coming. Dean was already spread and positioned for it, but Cas had to edge forward from where he had been kneeling. He took his own cock in hand and stroked it for Dean to see how hard, how ready he was before using his other hand to spit and spread the wetness. A fleeting thought to buy lube drifted through Dean's head, then Cas was lining up. He couldn't help it; he tensed as Cas's head teased up and down his hole.

"I won't hurt you, Dean," Cas reminded him. Dean nodded and tried to relax. He trusted Cas, but self preservation was a deeply ingrained trait of his. Cas pressed, Dean opened, and pain lanced through him as Cas filled him. He cried out, but before the sound was fully developed, it became a sound of pleasure as Cas healed him again. He reached for Cas's arms as Cas looped them under his knees to take hold of his hips. He held on tightly while Cas pulled him further down onto his cock. They stayed locked together, both of them trembling and gasping for air, staring at each others' eyes. Then slowly, deliberately, Cas began pumping his hips against Dean, and nothing else existed in the world except the two of them.

How long Cas rode him, Dean had no idea. He lost himself in the high his angel coaxed out of him with each long, careful stroke. Both of them were breathing heavily and sweating. Dean threw out the occasional curse -his way of expressing his pleasure- and Cas gazed down at him lovingly the whole time. This was it. This was where they had been heading this whole time.

To Dean's added pleasure, Cas let go of his hip and wrapped his hand around Dean's cock once more. He began stroking along with the pumping of his hips. It pushed Dean closer to the edge of release, and edge he had been skirting for quite a while. "I... I won't last," the words barely managed to tumble from him.

"Then let go, Dean," Cas commanded, gripping him tighter, his gaze boring into him, finding pieces of Dean he would gladly share with his angel. "Let it happen."

Dean did as he was told; he let his eyes close and felt his entire body tighten as he shouted his pleasure and the orgasm ripped through him. The hot spurting of his own seed spread across his stomach and chest as Cas stroked each rope out of him. He felt his ass clench down on Cas's cock, and Cas's measured pumping faltered. He let go of Dean's cock and grabbed both hips again, and with each stroke, he slammed himself harder into Dean again and again. Each time Cas was seated fully into him, it forced a grunt from Dean.

"Cum. For me. Cas." Dean stuttered the encouragement between the strokes. He reached up and grabbed Cas's arms again, fingertips digging into his skin. "Please. Please." At his begging, Cas went rigid and pushed as deeply into Dean as he could go. His nose flared as he sucked in a breath and let it out raggedly. He took a few more slow strokes and buried himself again. Dean's heart was pounding as Cas slowly, carefully, slid out of him. Dean lowered his legs and pulled Cas down to his side. He wrapped his arms around him and pressed his lips to his sweat-soaked forehead. "Holy shit," he mumbled against Cas's mass of damp, dark hair.

"I am uncertain there was anything holy about what we just did." Cas's reply pulled a soft laugh from Dean, and he kissed his angel's forehead again.

"My angel," he could say it now.

"Paid," Cas rumbled against his chest.

"Pah – Ee – Dee? Was that Enochian?" He felt Cas nod. "What does it mean?"

"'Forever.'"

Forever. Dean tightened his hold on his angel. He liked the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own rights to any of the songs or books included in this piece.
> 
> Europe – The Final Countdown – 1986  
"The Final Countdown"
> 
> Led Zeppelin – Led Zeppelin I – 1969  
"Good Times, Bad Times"  
"Babe I'm Gonna Leave You"
> 
> Genesis – Genesis – 1983  
"Mama"  
"That's All"  
"Home By the Sea"
> 
> L. Frank Baum – 1900 – "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz"


End file.
